


In the Pursuit of Knowledge

by ReduxCath



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Ranzal, Blowjobs, But like later, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fingering, Kleimann finds Ranzal amusing, M/M, Ranzal thinks he can fuck all the ladies but he’s lowkey Prime Himbo, sexual experiments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 79,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReduxCath/pseuds/ReduxCath
Summary: Ranzal has a very low opinion of Kleimann, which isn’t helped by the mage’s obsessive tendencies. When Ranzal finally goes too far, drags Kleimann away from his work, and insults the man’s credentials, the eccentric shadow mage decides to teach him a lesson.It’s so much better when research subjects work for free, isn’t it?(Ranzal/Kleimann will begin in chapter 4 as the conditions line up ;) )(Name edited slightly)
Relationships: Ranzal/Kleimann (Dragalia Lost)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Insults and Bad Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe, just maybe, Ranzal should learn to keep his mouth shut.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol can make you do things. You might regret those things later.

“Oi, barkeep!! One more round!!”

The Windwyrm’s Gout was lively as always. It had a very interesting name for a bar, one which Migardsorm would voice his mild disapproval of on occasion. But the people that lived near the Forest we’re accustomed to the gales of their resident dragon, and thus culture had formed around it. With the advent of Prince Euden’s Halidom, the surrounding area received greater attention than it had in ages. This translated into many a boon for those who liked to frequent the pub—mainly in the form of drinks that got them drunk quicker, and chairs that didn’t chaff or stab at their asses.

All this was particularly good for Ranzal, as this was one of his favorite places in the whole kingdom. Sure, people like Ellisiane would not let themselves unwind enough to enjoy a place like this, but that didn’t mean that every adventurer that joined Euden’s cause thought the same way. Slowly, the place had become an unofficial gathering spot for the more adult of the prince’s cohort. There was truly nothing like shooting the breeze about the days events and mixing with the regular populace. And it was lost on no one how adventurers such as themselves were known to carry around wildly divergent amounts of coin—all of which further severed to furnish the establishment. Sure, most of their funds went to the expansion of the Halidom’s land and training grounds (as well it should, for battle and training was in their blood), but the owner had grown to love those who carried the banner of the prince for their charity.

And on nights like this, when their continued patronage gave results and a new line of liquors and spirits joined their menu, the adventurers almost felt compelled to celebrate.

Oh they celebrated often, often enough that Cleo would muse that the act of celebrating was being devalued. But how could Ranzal not pop a cold one with his boys when new lamps were brought in, or when the windows were refurbished, or when complementary bread became available for 100 rupees? Bread! In a basket!! It was almost enough to make him cry.

Tonight the group was celebrating the new cushions that were oh so gentle on their asses. Ranzal did not remember who suggested it, whether an adventurer or a villager, but the whole pub was now enthralled with a series of arm wrestling competitions. Anyone who fancied themselves strong enough to try their hand (pun intended) was joining the fray, and it was enough to attract attention from the surrounding businesses. Ranzal downed his beer, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and grinned. “Yer 100 years too early to beat me, lil’ lady.”

Johanna groaned as she picked herself back up and drank her shot. Rules were that whoever won only had to drink once, the loser twice—with the added penalty of giving up some rupees to the pot. She wasn’t fond of spirits, but the woman took it like a champ as she squinted at the taste. “Bleh. Somehow I feel like that’s true, you meat machine.”

Ranzal wasn’t a braggart by nature—but being the undefeated champ of tonight’s arm wrestling events was making his chest puff out more than it usually did. Hearing the whispers of everyone around him, pretending like he didn’t catch anything they said, it was a rush.

“Gotta hand it to Ranzal.”

“Just look at those arms! You think he gets them from swinging that axe of his around?”

“He’s like a behemoth! Fuck me, man.” Oh? That last one made his lips twitch.

There was a girl on his arm, a dark Sylvan woman with purple hair and golden eyes. She had been sitting with him for a while now. She gave him a look and whispered in his ear with her delectable low voice. “Too bad I’m taking the real prize home tonight.”

She placed a hand on his pants and grabbed at his dick. He was half hard and twitched in her grasp.

For a single moment, Ranzal heard nothing but the roar of his own blood in his ears. But no. Later. He’d get crazy later, on this girl’s bed, in her room, with some privacy. He’d carefully take off her panties, savor their fabric between his fingers as he ate out her delicate bunny pussy, then pound her so hard that she’d be begging him to do it again.

He smirked down at her.

And again.

He gave her a little peck.

And again.

She grabbed one his biceps. Hard. Wanting. She’s the type that only fucks winners. Said so herself.

And again.

Ranzal stretched in his chair, looking back at a cauldron. “Hey, how much is in the pot now?”

Joe peered up from where he sat with a bunch of local men. He seemed to have struck some chord with them, seeing by how friendly they were acting towards him. Lucky guy just had some gift for making threesomes appear out of thin air. “Like 3,500? I lost count. Sorry ‘bout that.”

With that, some of the more money-obsessed patrons went to make sure of the size of the pot. Ranzal spied Ifran, a fellow mercenary, meticulously counting the coins and threatening people with a knife up the bum if they tried to take some of it back. What a guy. He acted like he was gonna take it back home in some upset victory.

Self-satisfaction coursed through Ranzal as he put his hands behind his back and felt the good stretch across his chest, as the Sylvan beauty marveled at the way his muscles moved. “Well, I guess I better go home. Can’t stay up too late...” Roars of lamentation grace his ears. He was a great storyteller on top of a master at holding his liquor. He’d be missed, especially by those who were staying up late to avoid their spouses back home. But the beauty that clung to his arm was grinding herself silly against him, and he wanted to fill _someone_ up with his seed before the night was done. “No, really!” He mock protested. “I’ve got a whole day of workin’ and helpin’ our prince...”

“Three cheers for Euden!! Three cheers for the Prince!!” Someone yelled at the mention of their benefactor. He had to take it. He had to. Everyone did. It was Euden they were talking about. No one else deserved it. He raised a glass just in time for the barmaid, a curly-haired woman with freckles in _all_ the right places, to fill it back up. He drank half of the mug, letting his smiling beauty drink the other half while he got daring and slipped a finger from his winning hand down below her skirt and _hooked_ into her pussy.

Doing that in front of all these people, hidden by the table, was a rush like nothing else.

And fucking hell, she was soaking wet and almost hot enough to scald him. He almost considered putting her on his lap and letting her bounce right then and there, for all to see.

But no.

This wasn’t that kind of place. He’d visited those. No, the Halidom he’d pledged himself to was a ways away, and its reputation wouldn’t be sullied. There was a fine line between a brave and darling mercenary and a lecherous muscled pervert (even if he fully committed to the latter role in private).

Besides, there was value in making this pretty girl wait.

He wanted her to be a trembling wreck by the time he got her naked, a mass of hormones and puppy eyes and leaking pussy and _begging_.

And this girl was only motivated by one thing.

With every coin deposited into the pot, she had grown more and more excited. When the sum passed 1,000 rupees, she had taken off her coat. When it passed 2,000, her belt. When it passed 3,000 she had sat next to Erik—until Ranzal climbed up the ranks and took her away.

Maybe Erik would want to join him and make this girl smell like heaven on earth. But whether or not the wild man wanted to have a threesome, Ranzal would make sure to drive this woman absolutely insane before he had his way with her.

And so, he spread out his hands. “I mean, I guess I _could_ stay, if anyone wanted to wrestle some more.” At that, the crowd jolted with varying emotions. Some excitement, some dismay. Johanna herself rolled her eyes, winked at Ranzal, and sat to the side with Sinoa, who was frequenting this bar for the first time. She drank little, but was amicable and sweet enough to be a welcome presence. “Who wants to take me on?!” He eyed then casually with a confident grin. Either these people had more money to bet (and more money would be added to the pot), or they didn’t. Either way it was a sure fire way to get his Sylvan beauty riled up even further, and of course, a way to stroke his own ego.

This was perfect. A night throwing his weight around with people, getting plastered, with a busty babe around his arm wanting his dick. There was nothing that could ruin this for him. “Come on,” he goaded, eyeing a bearded woodworker with a confident glint in his eyes. “I’m sure someone here wants to see me go down!!” His smile got saucy. “Well, I won’t, but still!” Laughter reigned.

His beauty clenched her folds on his fingers. They were under the table, and it was unlikely that people could see. Oh yeah, she was ready. She was ready to take Ranzal full hog, and—

“Ugh.”

Like a fly in the periphery of his vision, like the memory of clothes yet left unwashed back home, the presence of Kleimann was always at the edge of Ranzal’s mind. He sat by himself, drinking from the same cup he had an hour ago. He wore his mask, like always, no matter how many times people told him it was creepy, as well as his usual attire.

The academic was a relatively new addition to Euden’s band of adventurers. He came with prospects to expand his research, and had found a kindred spirit in people like Sinoa, who shared his academic pursuits. However, the two mages were worlds apart. Where Sinoa was acceptably bubbly, Kleimann was an excitable mess. Sinoa preferred to use her magic in cooperation with others, making her a favorite to be assigned to for a job. Kleimann, on the other hand, was all about taking the spotlight with his explosive spells, everyone that might be caught in the blast radius be damned.

And perhaps most irritating, Kleimann did not share Sinoa’s ability to rest from the pursuit of knowledge. Sinoa had been easy to get to know as she enjoyed the occasional stroll and always showed up to dinner. As a result, her work had garnered the interest of some in the Halidom. But Kleimann was either running amok on the battlefield, or stuck in his lab. The door was always closed, and were it not for Euden’s vote of confidence in the man, people would think of him not as a simple creep, but something more perverse.

“Sir Kleimann?” Sinoa offered. “Are you feeling ok?” She looked worried. “You didn’t drink too much, did you?”

Normally, Ranzal would’ve let the sulky bastard die in a ditch. But he was drunk, and his heart was a-flutter because his Sylvian woman was leaking so good into his winning hand. “Fogget bout him, Sinny!!” He was starting to slur. “He’s just mad because he can’t go fuck off to his little lab.” The way that Ranzal had let the curse word fly caused some chuckles.

Kleimann turned and scowled. He was clearly NOT drunk in the slightest, the killjoy. “I’m missing out on quality research time for this drivel.”

“Come on, it’s fine!” Luca had joined them as well, this time around. He went to pat the mage on the back. “Just take a little break! Ain’t gonna kill ya.”

The mage groaned as if that was a problem.

“Come on, old man, live a little!” Ranzal growled, loving how the girl on his arm was sticking out her tongue at the old man while grinding her hips and making her pussy move on his fingers. “Sinoa ain’t complainin’!”

Said girl blinked, then tried for some decorum. “Ah—well—“

Joe looked up from where he had been licking at the neck of a very horny stable hand. “What was yer research about, sweetie? I ain’t to hot on the terms.”

“W-well,” she said, not having expected to talk about her job. “I’m interested in the magical reactions of certain crystals. See, depending on what kind of stone you put on a wand, the way you cast spells changes.” She had a knack for explaining things in simple terms. Ranzal had only the faintest idea of what she was talking about, but she, like him, was a good storyteller. His Sylvian beauty leaned on his chest, cradling herself on his arm, and damn it to hell if people noticed, Ranzal took the opportunity to reach deeper into her pussy. The squelching sound, a bit louder than before, caused her to hide her face in his neck, blushing. Oh, how he wished she’d bite him hard, right there, right where her mouth was.

“So is that crystal stuff good for anything?” A farmer asked.

“Oh yes! With the right stone, you can lift rocks, grow crops, redirect rivers...” even the townspeople were interested. Perhaps this was the beginning of some new local venture for the mages, but Ranzal was too preoccupied in getting this beautiful slut to squirt on the new chair pads. She’d do it too, with enough coaxing. She’d let herself go and then she’d want more, and she’d grab Ranzal by the scruff of his shirt, and he’d—

“Pish posh!” Kleimann suddenly interrupted her. “My dear girl, you think so plainly about our craft! It’s distressing, to be honest.” Sinoa closed her mouth as Kleimann began to talk about his own ambitions. Maybe he was drunk after all? We’re all mages such goddamned lightweights? “Now see, a real doozy of current innovation lies in thaumaturgical stimulation of the central nervous system—“ Perhaps all mages were lightweights, but not all were good storytellers. Kleimann squandered people’s interests faster than Prince Emile had squandered the local treasury before Euden had taken over. Even Luca, positive chum that he was, sighed and leaned his head on his hand. Joe silently went back to groping the stable hand and his farmer friend. He was clearly keeping their attention and would be handsomely rewarded with their tight puckers later tonight.

Ranzal wished he could say the same, but his Sylvian beauty was suddenly annoyed. “Ugh, bo-ring...!” She huffed and rolled her honey eyes. This girl wasn’t one for heady conversations, or very long ones. She cared about sex and money, nothing that would delay them. When she moved away, Ranzal’s fingers could not keep but from sliding out of her sweet warm caverns. He grumbled, and as he wiped the slick juices on his trousers, the alcohol combined with his sudden lack of sexual stimulation, and his frustration spilled. “Oh, shaddup, you hermit son of a bitch! We all know you spend hours in that lab of yours jacking off!!” That got people to laugh, and the bar’s spirit was saved.

Kleimann snorted. “As if you have any idea of the depth of my work.”

“Oh sure, the ‘depth’ of it. Tell me, if yer so educated, why don’t ya show us yer diplomas? You sure yer a mage?” More laughs. It was somewhat of a low blow, but really, he deserved it. He always talked about how he had gone to Universities across the land, boasted about a laundry list of credentials—but he never had any proof of them! Honestly, sometimes Euden was too much of a softy with who he let join his cause. “The only real ‘degree’ you’ve got up your ass is a, a,” here, Ranzal adopted a posh accent from Aquapolis. “an ‘Advanced Certification in Rudimentary Explosions’! Please!!” His act made people roar. His little bunny girl (with the not so little breasts) giggled and threw herself back on him again. Alrighty then, if she wanted to get wrecked so bad by a winner, time to—

“You utter imbecile.” It was said so low that he doubted most people caught it.

Something about the way Kleimann said that drove a shiver down his spine.

But Kleimann pushed the sudden attention and rigid backs of the rest of the adventurers to the side as he stood up. “You drag me out of my lab and then insult my credentials?” Ranzal smirked despite himself. He couldn’t take him seriously with that mask on. “Fine. I’ll take you on.”

“What?” He chuckled.

“M-mister Kleimann, please!” Sinoa tried your calm him down as he stepped towards him. “It’s ok, Ranzal’s just drunk.”

“Yeah man, he always gets like this. TRUST me.” Luca said, putting his arm around the man, trying to lead him away.

“Whaddaya mean I always ‘get like this’??” Ranzal questioned. Luca blushed in embarrassment. Ok, so he really was more than a bit drunk. But hey, so was everyone else here! This was a _bar_ , not some rich diner somewhere in Saint Lotier.

Kleimann gently shook Luca and Sinoa off him and put his dirty shoes on the new seat. The bar owner spoke up. “Hey! I just got those!!”

“I’ll pay you back regardless of the outcome, fine sir.” And Kleimann dug up a small bag of coins and flicked it to the man. That earned him astonished looks. Sure, there were adventurers from all walks of life here, but the area around Euden’s castle was not a very rich one (why else would Emile, of all people, let it go without any fuss?) The adventurers came here to let off steam and to spend some of their money, but they didn’t upset the local economic balance. The majority of their funds went to food or castle expenses, ventures that would benefit the area in indirect ways. Showing off wealth to commoners was a perfect way of making them your enemy, and Kleimann’s personal trove was about the only thing that lined up with his story of being so finely educated in the magical arts.

Said wizard glowered at Ranzal as he took a seat. “Square up, _chum_.” That ticked him off. The two men bared their teeth.

“Yo, yo,” Joe was suddenly at the table, his bass voice washing over them in an attempt to calm them down. “Ranzal, it’s fine. I’ll just take Kleimann here back to the castle.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I wanna see what this guy thinks he’s got.” He waved him away.

Kleimann turned to Joe. “There really is no trouble. I’ll just deal with this one and be on my way.” The gentle way he spoke was oddly cheerful. It left the archer astonished.

“Oh, sure. You’re gonna deal with me after you just chuck some cash at our barkeep like he’s some common whore.” His Sylvan girl pouted. Ranzal patted her leg to let her know that even if this was a casual thing, she wasn’t common at all to him. Ok, she was satisfied with that. Back to the bastard. “And now you’re just gonna try and take the money to make up what you lost? Fat chance, bub!”

He half expected the mage to reply with something about Ranzal’s known fondness for brothels. That would get him kicked out for sure, and his Sylvian beauty would cry into his arms for a little bit before spreading her damp legs and taking his fat dick. “The only thing common in this bar is your foul attitude. “ Kleimann answered, surprising him. The Sylvian on his arm perked up, surprised as well. “And I’m not interested in your meager pot.”

Ok. Whatever. If he wanted to ostracize the local community, Ranzal wasn’t gonna stop him. “What, we too poor for you, rich boy?” Ifran made a noise as the locals turned to Kleimann, the angry idea now well-fed in their heads.

“I don’t care about the wealth of others, boy. I simply speak the truth. Such money offers me nothing I would ever want.” The clientele seemed to be holding their breath. Magic and spell crafting were expensive provisions, which was why (barring blessings from the land or from Dragons) only the most capable individuals could afford to finance their enterprise through skill. It was obvious, yet it still struck deep in the hearts of these people who were not of that world. Ranzal hated the rich. He hated their haughty demeanors. But Kleimann moved in a way that was both rich and not.

Perhaps, that’s why he had taken some time to figure out he disliked him?

“How about we make this more interesting, hmmm?” Kleimann offered. His smile was sly, his white teeth glinted in the warm light. “You had the bright idea of dragging me here, and I’m missing out on the light of the full moon. I’ll have to delay tonight’s experiments by a whole month.” He began to crack each of his knuckles on both hands, one by one. Slowly. “So, how about this? If I win, instead of taking your hard earned sums, you agree to become my personal assistant for a month’s time!”

The people in the bar murmured. Becoming a mage’s assistant? What a crazy idea. And becoming an assistant to this shadowy man? Even Sinoa was shocked if her face was any indication. “Mister Kleimann?”

“I’ll need your word, Ranzal. The honest word of a man. If I win, you’ll assist me for a month with no questions or hesitation.” He stretched out his hand.

He could say no.

Really, there was nothing forcing him to say anything. He could simply refuse, take his pot, leave this sad old man in the dust, and go pound this sweet sweet girl until she fainted at daybreak.

He could leave and eat her out in the alley behind the bar _right now._ He could drag Erik along and they could stretch out her pussy and lick her chocolate breasts. He could even convince Luca to join in if he felt so inclined.

But there was perfect opportunity here.

His girl had had her flow interrupted. And she liked to see him win. She sucked the cocks of winners, said so herself. What a better way to end an evening than to put this sorry wizard in his place and leave with his girl all the more excited? All the more willing to get nasty?

All the more willing to drench him in her sweet hot juices?

And all he had to do was beat this idiot at a game he was surely ill-prepared for.

“Fine.” Ranzal said. He stretched out his right hand, the same one he had beaten everyone else with, the same one he had fingered this drop dead gorgeous woman with, and shook Kleimann’s palm. It was soft, no grip. He couldn’t help but grin. Could the old man feel the remnants of his bunny’s juices on his hand? Maybe if he wasn’t such a blowhard, he’d get some pussy of his own. “I’ll take you on. And if I win, you have to follow me around and call me ‘Master Ranzal’ for that same month.”

Excitable gasps and ahhs. He had just said that to say something, anything. But people seemed to be into it. Suggestions rose. He should also get him to do his laundry with magic, to clean his axe every day, to cut his meat at dinner. It made Ranzal chuckle, and his Sylvian beauty ground herself against him again. Fuck, he wanted to make her cum. NOW. in front of this idiot. He wanted her to remember being made to squirt in front of EVERYBODY. “Tell ya what. I’ll take it easy on you. I’ll use my left hand instead of my right. And I won’t even hold onto the table, neither.” Laughter. If you did that, you’d be disqualified on the spot. “My baby girl here will keep it nice and safe.” And he made a show of putting his right hand back between her legs, much to her surprise. Now she knew that at least some people were wise to Ranzal’s masturbation of her clit. Did she like that? Did it made her hot and wet? His fingers grazed her pussy through her panties.

It sure fucking did.

Kleimann snickered then. So he could laugh like a normal person. “What a coincidence. I’m also right handed.” He put his right hand up in the air and put his left hand on the table. “What a fun game.” He said, as though he could see the wonders Ranzal was performing under the table for his sweet fuck girl.

Maybe he could, through some magical machination of his mask.

Maybe this old man was a fucking pervert deep down.

That was a rich thought.

Sinoa went to whisper something into Johanna’s ear. Joe sighed and walked back to his seat with his two handsome men. “Well fuck it. Suit yerselves.”

Ifran steppes forward, shrugging. “Well, I guess this is a thing that’s happening!” Cheers. Ranzal smirked and winked at Kleimann. Oh he was gonna wreck this fucker. The mammomist mercenary put his hand on top of the two men’s gripped palms. “Let’s see who wins in this weird, fucked up crazy fight!”

“Just start already.” He growled. He wanted to shoot his load down his girl’s throat.

“Alright, alright.” He gave Ranzal a look. He was blushing just a bit because form his angle he could see how the Sylvian beauty was panting very slightly, and how Ranzal’s right arm muscle was moving with his fingers’ dance. Heck, if he wanted a piece of her later, they would probably both be game for it.

“Ready...” Ranzal breathed in, and Drew encouragement from the way his girl whispered naughty things into his ear. “...go!!”

The two men began their battle.

Ranzal decided he would take his time delivering Kleimann his defeat. Let him think he had some shot, let him. It all went to his sweet bunny girl’s delicious pussy. The thrill of competition was making her so hot he could probably make tea if he stuck a cup of water in her folds. So Ranzal put most of his focus on making sure his girl was happy and wet and ready for the pounding that was going to come. He swirled his fingers around inside, tickled her labia with his knuckles, focused on the way she clenched her folds on his fingers as though she wanted to break them. Oh yes, baby, squish until it fucking pops. Squish down. Try and push me out like the slut you are.

Ranzal was deliciously hard in his pants.

Kleimann smiled because of course he knew what the fuck was going on in front of him.

Lecher probably wanted to get in on the action. Well, too bad. If there was anyone Ranzal would refuse in bed, it was this asshole.

The axe-man upped the tempo slightly, pushing a bit more. As expected, Kleimann’s arm began to bend back. “That all you got, old man? You sure talk big game, don’t you?” He hooked his fingers as deep as they would go, and by some miracle his girl didn’t cry out as her pussy quivered and her juices drenched his hand. The crowd was growing more and more excited.

Kleimann yawned. Mouth wide, voice loud.

And began to push back.

Ok? So he had some fight in him. The sylvian beauty that Ranzal was so sweetly finger-fucking ‘ooo’ed. “Look! He’s not done yet! Wow!!” Kleimann’s arm was now back in the same position it had started in.

Ranzal whistled low as the crowd gasped. “Hey now, if you’ve got some secret technique you best get to pulling it out now.” Oh he’d pull out himself. He’d pull out and soak this sweet sweet woman in his seed. He’d make her choke on his cock and balls and make her smell how a mercenary smelled after a hard day’s work.

The mage sighed. “You young people are so confident, yet so rude.

“It’s kind of funny.”

Then he grinned wide as he pushed with more power.

Ranzal was there every step of the way, ready to back up his muscles’ reputation. His girl gasped and squeezed harder down on his fingers and knuckles. A good effort, yeah. But it would end soon. He’d take this girl, bend her over the counter,  
and fuck her silly. He’d ram into her and watch her bubble butt jiggle from the primal joy of it all. He’d relish her smelling his pubes, moaning on his cock, just as soon as this old fart stopped fucking around.

But Kleimann did not relent.

He continued to push, continued to make Ranzal tense up his arm more and more. His fingers twitched inside Kleimann’s grip (why was it so damn strong all of a sudden?), and they began to fall slack in the sylvian’s pussy. But no matter. She began visibly thrusting on them, quite literally fucking herself with Ranzal’s  
hand. The crowd was suddenly in shock, cheering for both of them as Kleimann continued to push down, down, down, without ever breaking his smile.

He only seemed to smile wider.

He wanted to see it, Ranzal realized. He wanted to see this girl’s orgasm. He wanted to see her yell out as her legs shook from the force of her own release.

No, no he didn’t.

Ranzal couldn’t see Kleimann’s eyes, but he somehow knew...

Kleimann was not interested in this girl that was being so obvious with her sexual euphoria.

No.

Kleimann wasn’t looking at her.

Kleimann was looking directly at Ranzal, instead.

And the same chill went up his spine.

What the fuck was happening?

Ranzal had to concentrate on the fight before him. He tried to ignore the pain in his right hand, how the girl was squeezing so much it actually hurt his dripping fingers. He angled himself, pushed with all his might, and made some leeway. His girl loved that, loved the thrill of the match, of the vie for the winner’s invisible crown. She was getting closer, closer, she’d really orgasm all over these new chairs. The crowd’s voices were distant things. Ranzal struggled, fought to free his righthand from the pussy, pushed with his left—

But then, Kleimann’s grin turned feral, and he smashed his hand to the table, taking Ranzal’s with it.

For a second, nothing happened, not. A sound was heard save for the crackle of the flames in the hearth and the lamps.

Then the bar was drowned in cheers. Yelling, so much yelling. Joe was being shaken by his stable hand and by Johanna, who had left a dazed Sinoa to stare with her mouth open. It seemed that Ifran had set up bets on the side while they had been in the throes of combat, for he was prancing around with a bag of coins that seemed to almost match the amount in the pot. Luca’s shrill screams of excitement rang in his ear before fading away as he made a scene and riled people up.

Their attention was on other things now.

Ranzal sat, his energy gone and his member pitifully soft in his pants.

The girl, his Sylvian beauty with the dark skin, purple hair and honey eyes, stood up with a sigh. “That was fun.” She said, completely calm and neutral, with a polite smile like she hadn’t just been about to spread her legs and cum all over him a few seconds prior.

But of course she wasn’t going to do that now.

She had told him from the start that she fucked winners. She sucked their dicks, she rode them out until they filled her with so much cum it would dribble out of her.

Ranzal was no longer a winner in her eyes.

Sure, he could come back another night. Find her again. Win against some poor saps and then fuck her good. But it wouldn’t be the same. There had been so much good build up...

...and even if he did try, this embarrassment would linger over him for a good long while.

He looked up at her bored face. “I’m, um...” he reached out, but she didn’t even look at him as she left.

Kleimann snickered softly in his seat. “Pity, pity.”


	2. Promises, Expectations, and the Establishment of Authority

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I thought I should release the chapter today to celebrate :)

The Halidom of His Majesty was lively as always. 

Many adventurers had come to Euden’s aid over time. People of all ages had pledged their swords and staves for his sake, and Kleimann, being a recent addition to the group, never knew of a time when this place wasn’t full of noise of some sort. He’d met many people as part of Lord Euden’s merry band of misfits, and he would hazard to say he got along with some of them. 

Take Sinoa, for instance. Her excitement for the magical arts made her a worthy practitioner and companion of tea. She could engage in conversations at a level not many others could aspire to. The topics would be too advanced for their simple minds. The two were currently reviewing one of her configurations for crystal enhancement. It was an interesting thing, and Kleimann knew enough of geomancy to understand that Sinoa had chosen minerals that resonated with each other’s mana frequency. “You must share your source of Topaz with me.” He commented, looking at a sample she had brought. “These are quite fetching.”

“I’m glad you approve.” She said, smiling. “Let me write it down for you.” She took her quill, dipped it in ink, and began to scribble down her notes. 

Kleimann turned his attention back to the runic configuration of the girl’s spell. He was more adept at this, anyways. As he traced his fingers over the circle and noted the base of her chemical formulae, he kept in mind that the purpose of her project was to encourage the growth of crops. She would test on a sample of soil separated from other areas of the garden, and if successful, would share her methods with the common folk down at the nearby village. All well and good, all nice and charitable. “Your runes,” he mumbled. “...Is this oxygen?” When she made a noise of affirmation, he colored the circle in. “I suggest using carbon here instead. You’ll get a compound that’s more prone to reacting with this area’s species of potato....” he made other notes on the margins. Simply substituting carbón wasn’t going to yield a permanent increase in root strength. 

Part of him wanted to critique her for her safe plays. She was trying to encourage growth of crops and she wasn’t using things like Thisell Root or Wolfsbane Concentrate. Not even a little bit of Fairy Sweat (a name his university colleagues had given to a  _ very _ fun substance that made mana veins drain faster than a man with a cut aorta). It was hopelessly dull, but after yesterday evening’s events...

Well, Kleimann wasn’t a man who liked to apologize often. And really, if someone wanted to spend their time doing this level of work, who was he to judge?

“You’re patient when you get down to it, Mr. Kleimann.” She piped up. 

“Oh?” He looked up from his notes. Sinoa was presently holding amber in her hand, filling it with her fire mana to its critical point. It would serve as the focus of the soil’s mana web. Fine control, as always. “How do you mean?”

“You’re not interested in this particular job, yet you help me.” She smiled an honest smile. 

Kleimann leaned forward, put his chin on the back of his hands. “Hell hath no fury like a mage scorned.” He quipped. “I am simply trying to get on your good side again.”

“You’ve already apologized.”

“We both know that was a simple display of manners in front of a bunch of drunks. I can’t afford to make an enemy out of one of the few other intelligent people here.” He grinned as he started to roll up her scrolls. 

Her smile faltered. “Maybe intelligent isn’t the right word.”

“Learned.” Tie it up. 

She stopped smiling. “That’s not quite better.” With her other hand she corralled the other gems into a pile before making them float. 

His grin widened as the precious rocks floated into their container . “Interesting.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it, you sapio-pervert.”

“What’s wrong with sapiosexuality?” He asked. Sinoa made a face. Her gem box closed and she began to store her quill and ink. “You may deny it, but attraction on the basis of intelligence is quite real.”

“If I may speak honestly—“

“You always can—“

“...to me, ascribing attraction on such merits is...” she put down her gem, finished. “...somewhat elitist at its core.”

Kleimann thought. And thought and thought. Or at least he made it look like he was thinking. Sinoa’s expression as she finished cleaning up was just too dang precious, all concerned with something like that. Kleimann was not an amoral agent, but really, life was not to be treated with kid gloves. And besides, he already knew where he stood. “Well it’s not like that’s the  _ only  _ thing I look for.”

Sinoa sighed. “Well thank goodness. At least the world has hope that someone may partake of your golden body.”

He touched his bicep as he stood up. “Golden indeed, my friend!” He chuckled as she muttered something and collected her materials. 

Kleimann walked through the halls of the Halidom. The place they were working at was somewhat insulated from the noises of the activities going on, but now he was hit with the full force of it all. Warriors of every race and creed milled around. Strong people, each and every one. But of course, not all saw the world through his refined vision. 

Sinoa caught up, her box and three scrolls were in her arms. Kleimann wordlessly took two of them off her load, and she gestured to him. “You surprised me, yesterday. I thought you were just throwing a tantrum at Ranzal, but you actually beat him.”

“Oh, it wasn’t as impressive of a victory as you may think.”

She looked forward. “Didn’t call it impressive.”

Of course she saw everything. Her eyes were more valuable than any ruby or sapphire could ever hope to be. Kleimann snickered. “Call it well deserved?” 

“That’s a little mean. Bars are for fun like that.” She frowned. 

“Says the girl who doesn’t like to go out.”

“I do so!!” 

Sinoa proceeded to list the things she did that made her interesting. Kleimann agreed, but said most of those didn’t appeal to the general public. “We are educated, Sinoa. Disciples of magic, students of science, slaves to our curiosity.” She didn’t like it when he got grand with her, which is why he did it. Girl needed to take more pride in her work, whether or not she viewed it as elitism. Whether it was or not, mages were still paid at the end of the day—and their work mattered the most. “Is that why you went out? Wanted to have some girl’s fun?”

“Can’t a disciple of magic enjoy herself?” She gave him a look. 

But he smiled. “I never said  _ that _ .”

They reached her private study, placed her materials alongside her beakers and soil samples, and headed off to an early lunch. Kleimann and Sinoa ate quickly, efficiently, leaving almost nothing in their plates. “So, I’m assuming you’re going to start hounding Ranzal soon about...” she gestured. “...whatever you’ll have him do.”

“After I finish this stew.” He said. One of the draws for any academic was good food. Euden was wise to supply it in spades. 

Sinoa nodded. 

Ranzal, as it turned out, was right in the same room. 

He was cheerful as always. Apparently the events of yesterday evening had quickly left his mind. He was chatting it up with his Liege, who smiled and chirped along as he always did. Kleimann took a moment to observe the mercenary between spoonfuls. 

He ate with the vigor of someone who was hungry. Granted, the man ate a big portion almost every day. But the way he sat suggested light injury, quiet discomforts. He was the type to not bother with healing unless it was an absolutely serious matter. Sprained arm, no, sore leg? Ah, and as he turned his neck, Kleimann could see a light bruise forming at the nape of his collar where his armor exposed it. It lined up with the scuffs on his armor. The leather plate had a new set of scratches on, yet to be colored by the sun and rain. And peering at his food, the mage could tell it had some honeydew sprinkles. While an alright spice, it was effective for treating the after effects of poison—more specifically, the type that attacked the skeletal system. Kleimann sighed. “He’s like an angry ox.”

“Hmmm?” Sinoa hadn’t been paying attention as closely as he had. Of course not. She was too busy converting her food Into mana to replace what she’d lost. Came with the territory. 

“Nothing.” But this was troubling. He had wanted to use Ranzal for his research straight away, starting this moment. If he wasn’t in fit condition, he’d have to wait...

...or would he?

Kleimann began to think. Honeydew flecks. Good for poison echoes and an alright source for calcium. Calcium had a similar reactivity resonance to calcite, seeing as the latter contained a singular calcium atom in its makeup. Calcite was used by average medical healers to target skeletal issues, but it could make for a versatile crystal in a pinch. The similar resonance allowed for a synchronization that, paired with the right input frequency, would result in reduced energy transfer strain...

Kleimann cracked his knuckles happily before walking over to the mercenary. “Good morning.”

At the sound of his voice, Ranzal froze. His smile dropped, and there it was. There was the scowl he’d come to know and almost love. This man really didn’t like him, did he? “....Hey. “

“How are you doing this fine day?”

Ranzal stirred his plate, wary. “I’m—“

“Hey, didn’t Ranzal totally get banged by Kleimann at some bar yesterday?” Someone asked. 

Ranzal flinched, and Kleimann would try and keep that surprised expression inside his memory. He turned, winced. Definitely a minor muscle sprain. “That’s not what that word means!!” He growled at the general direction that he glared at. Oh, boy, oh boy. 

Kleimann smirked as he sat. “I take it the tale of your  _ valiant _ efforts have spread.”

Ranzal squinted. “Didn’t spread by me.”

“Neither by  _ my _ hand.” He calmly assured. “I do not care for gossip.”

“What happened?” The curious Prince asked? Kleinmann could never quite wrap his head around how someone’s eyes could be so green. Was it a consequence of his heritage? Of his blessed dragon blood?

As Ranzal was besieged by those green eyes, he grew embarrassed. Kleimann waited a moment, giving him courtesy. When he didn’t explain, he took it upon himself. “My Liege does not frequent bars, I presume?”

“No. I don’t really drink.” He said. Frowning. He was a good boy, knew what to associate with bars. 

“Smart. I usually don’t myself, but I was...” he twirled his hand. “shall we say,  _ encouraged _ to go by Ranzal?” He loved the way the mercenary snuck glares his way. So, so good. “He and I engaged in a little fun, and I beat him in an arm wrestling match.”

Euden looked incredulous. “You lost at an arm wrestling match, Ranzal?” He touched the man’s biceps. They really were sculpted things. Honed by the axe he carried. “I can’t believe it.”

Ranzal took a drink. Gave himself some time to think of a response that would befit their lord’s presence, smiling a smile that would befuddle the most expensive lie detectors. “Euden, you never underestimate old folk. They’ve got  _ tricks _ you can’t even imagine.” Kleimann didn’t miss the subtle dig. It had passable delivery, at the very least it went over their Prince’s head.

Euden nodded. Well, it  _ was _ certainly sage advice, even if it implied something ludicrous. After all, to live another year was a badge of honor from the world. “He lost, so now he has to help me with some of my work.”

A hand, covered in callouses, raised.. “You mind if we table that?” Ranzal mumbles on his food, ever so slightly louder. He patted his axe, which lay behind him, as he stabbed a fork into his honeydew-covered meat. “I was gonna go take care of a fiend infestation down south of the Halidom.” 

“Ah, you mean by that little village? Sinoa’s working on a little agricultural project for them right now.” Kleimann remarked quite cheerfully. 

Ranzal’s fake smile dropped. “I heard.”

Euden drank a little form his cup. “Actually, it’s alright, Ranzal. Why don’t you take a rest today?”

Ranzal twitched. Kleimann hid his smirk by taking a sip from the bowl he had carried over. “But Euden, I’m fine!” His hair whipped around as he turned to face his prince. It had nice bounce. 

The good Prince shook his head. “You really overextended yourself today. I can tell. I can go alone. It should be no trouble.” He gave a winning smile, one that would take senators and diplomats months to perfect. A natural-born politician! Thank the stars he wasn’t twisted. “Well, I’ll have the Dragons with me, so I won’t be totally alone, haha.” 

Ranzal tried to protest once again. Why oh why did meatheads have to make everything so hard on themselves? “But Euden, you know me. I’m a stallion!” Kleimann had to grasp at his spoon a little harder to keep himself from laughing out loud. “I’m always raring to go!” 

“Ranzal,” Euden attempted. Kleimann could see it, plain as day on his face. He really didn’t want to to disappoint him, but he was having trouble articulating himself. Not a politician just yet. 

“I assure you, Ranzal. You won’t be doing anything too taxing today.” Kleimann said, injecting the right amount of amicability into his voice. “I’ll just be giving you a run down of the general aims of this experiment. If it works as well as I hope, then our military might will be tripled!”

Euden was interested, then. “Oh? What’s this idea you have?”

Ranzal shot daggers with his eyes. “Prince—“

“Well it’s just in its initial phase, but I’ve already drawn up a basic experiment outline.” Kleimann reached into his bag, pulled out a folder, and handed it to his prince. Ranzal blinked. Watched and squinted as his prince read through it—or tried to. Kleimann estimated that Prince Euden’s royal education would allow him to understand around 60 percent of the material presented before him. Not bad. But of course, it highlighted Euden’s level of interest in the sciences. He was trained for politics, not chemistry or spell casting. In a perfect world, Kleimann supposed the royal family would be mages as well as statesmen, but no such luck. “Wow, this is kind of cool!” The older mage’s heart grew just a little warm at his Prince’s honest praise. Perhaps he also enjoyed the way Ranzal rolled his eyes extra hard. Good, no jaundice. He really was only hurt lightly, then. “Ranzal, you should totally do this! I’m kind of jealous.”

The mercenary didn’t know what to say. 

Of course he didn’t. He was an uneducated oaf with more blood in his dick and body than in his head. But that was alright. It was alright indeed. 

“Well, shall we finish our food and then head over to my lab?” Kleimann offered genially. 

Ranzal took the folder from Euden and watched as he prepared to take off. “...Sure.”

They bid farewell to their Prince, and ate in silence. 

Ranzal made a noise of displeasure only when they reached the lower basement level of the Halidom. Kleimann kept on walking. “Something the matter, comrade?”

“You’re the fucking worst.” Was all he said. 

Kleimann shrugged. One more door, 30 more steps. “A subjective statement. But I  _ suppose _ if you’re going to assist me in this research, I should ask you why it is you think so ill of—“

Ranzal dashed forward, rounded on him just as he was about to open the door to his laboratory and banged his hand on it with a loud sound. His scowl had been replaced by a darker look. He towered over Kleimann by a full head. 

Did he think he was afraid?

Laughable. “You embarrassed me in front of Euden!!” The mercenary growled. Murder was in his eyes. His angry shout echoed across the hall of the basement, and Kleimann was suddenly very thankful no one was there to see Ranzal so angry. 

Thankful that no one was there to intervene. 

Kleimann took a moment to observe that look before he pushed the door open. Because Ranzal was stupid enough to lean his big hand on it, it swung so fast he tripped in first and nearly fell on his chin. Kleimann let himself snicker just a little bit as he maneuvered himself around the mountain of a man and waved his wand in the familiar dark grey room. Two chairs flew towards them. He stood next to one, facing the other man who was pushing himself up once more. He gestured to the chair. “Sit.”

Ranzal glowered from his position on the floor. “Suck my dick.”

The door pulsed purple and shut behind Ranzal with just enough force for it to be loud. Kleimann spoke again, no longer smiling. “ _ Sit _ .”

Ranzal paused, dragged himself to sit on the chair, not breaking eye contact. Well, it was for that reason that Kleimann wore a mask, didn’t he? One of the more important ones. 

Kleimann took out a piece of cloth from his pocket and began to clean his wand. Methodical, practiced, even movements. It gave him something to do as he tried to explain the concept of respect to this simpleton. “You say  _ I  _ embarrassed you?” 

“Sure as hell, yeah.”

“My boy, all I did was announce that _you_ had agreed to help me in my work, and _our_ _Liege_ then told you to stay behind for your own sake. That’s all it was.” He cleaned the area where his fingers were most likely to grip, making sure his sweat hadn’t the chance to solidify, or else it would interrupt the flow of mana. “ _Really_ , you were there.”

“I  _ was _ there, asshole.” The mercenary said. He looked like he wanted to swat Kleimann’s wand out of his hands. Try it. See what happens, boy. “You embarrassed me  _ yesterday _ , and you embarrassed me again  _ today _ .”

“Ah, so you’re in a foul mood from our little event at that bar?” Kleimann made sure to use circular motions. It gave the wood a nice texture. 

“What else would I  _ possibly _ be pissed about?”

“Hmm. I wonder indeed.”

Ranzal knit his hands together, applying pressure with his fingers, trying to stay calm. Mechanical strength was lowered in that position. He’d sprain them if he wasn’t careful. The mercenary took a deep breath, and Kleimann noted with interest the way his upper chest inflated and deflated. Impressive lung capacity. “You cheated.”

Any remnant of Kleimann’s good mood was wiped away. “Pardon me?” 

Ranzal sneered. “Don’t you fuck with me, old man. I don’t know what  _ witchery _ you did yesterday—“ Kleimann had to remind himself not to tear Ranzal asunder, had to remind himself that this was an uneducated man talking. “but you didn’t win fairly.”

Kleimann stopped cleaning his wand. He folded his cloth neatly, put the rectangle in his pocket, stood up, and after waking one step forward, bent down directly in front of Ranzal to push his face in front of the other man’s. To his credit, Ranzal did not flinch. Kleimann noticed the slight hairs around his chin. “Mister Ranzal, you lost yesterday  _ entirely _ due to your own incompetence.”

Ranzal swung—

—Kleimann caught it. Because the mercenary was using his right hand, the mage was forced to step a little to the side. He didn’t waver too much, just enough to yield the position of power. The mercenary stood, grabbed him by the collar, and pushed him against a wall. “ _ Say that again _ .” He rumbled. Their noses were pushing against each other. He could feel Ranzal’s angry breath on his chin and mouth. 

Kleimann gently pushed his wand’s amethyst tip on Ranzal’s thick neck, over his aorta. A drop of mana made it glow, made Ranzal shiver. Kleimann’s own menace did not dip when he spoke again. “You were drunk. You had enough beer to knock out a young adult cold. It made you cocky.” Ranzal’s grip tightened. He pushed him further into the wall with his body. “And you were  _ preoccupied _ , as I recall.”

Ranzal’s eyes burned with the intensity only a male could muster. “That ain’t none of your business.”

Kleimann lifted his leg and rubbed against Ranzal’s crotch. He made his wand pulse a little harder to keep him still. “Agreed.” His grin returned, almost feral, almost common. “I don’t really care about your sex life. In fact, it’s no concern of mine at all.” He lifted his chin and, just for kicks, grazed Ranzal’s lips with his own. The scowl, the way that the man angled his head away in disgust, made something inside him sing. “But you  _ chose _ to play with that girl.”

“What the fucks that got to do with—“

“You’re right handed.” Kleimann stated. “I’ve seen the way you fight. Your posture with your axe is a dead give-away.” And he’d also seen the man write, on occasion. Kleimann had hoped that if this mercenary could handle a quill and paper, then he could be amicable in his presence. Sadly not the case. “Yet you deigned,  _ chose _ , to wrestle me with my  _ left _ hand.”

“Are you left handed, then?” Ranzal asked, still angry. 

“Ambidextrous.”

“Oh,  _ fuck _ off.”

He would ordinarily prove it, but right now he had a meat man to put in his place. With his unoccupied hand, Kleimann took the liberty of grabbing at Ranzal’s cock through his pants. The other man helped, but he didn’t let go, and jabbed his wand deeper into his neck, enough to leave a small dent in the skin. Stay. “You chose to have your little public fun instead of taking me seriously. You don’t think people noticed how you were  _ ravishing  _ that girl? How your arm was moving around? Ranzal, you may have quite the package—“ he did. It was growing hard from the adrenaline. What a pervert. “but you are not, as they say, slick.” 

Well, he was slick in one way. Kleimann’s hand was starting to get coated in pre-ejaculate. Messy. “You wanted to fuck that girl so bad. I could tell. I could smell both of you the moment I sat down to face you. Fucking disgusting.” At his words, which surely made him remember that beautiful woman, Ranzal’s throbbing cock was starting to leak in his pants. Kleimann leaned forward, enough to whisper in his ear. “I honestly could not  _ believe _ my eyes when I saw her face and yours. You would’ve gotten her  _ pregnant _ right there if she asked, wouldn’t you?”

Ranzal strained, both with his voice and in his pants, as Kleimann stroked him and threatened him with concentrated mana. “Fuck off...”

But he wouldn’t fuck off. No, he’d let this man know  _ exactly _ what he thought of him. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since the moment I arrived at this place. Prince Euden welcomed me with open arms, Sinoa’s joined me to become a good colleague—everyone has at least partially warmed to my presence, except for you.” He knew Ranzal couldn’t see his eyes, but now, as he moved to stare at him directly again, they were holding ‘eye contact’ very well. Could he feel it, Kleimann wondered? He squeezed a wet area that was hot and throbbed with angry want. Well, he  _ definitely _ felt that. “And you had the gall, the  _ utter balls _ ,” he grabbed at those too. Stupidly big. “to drag me from my work yesterday so you could  _ insult _ me in front of a tavern full of my associates?”

Ranzal’s legs were shaking ever so slightly from the strain of carrying Kleimann. He squeezed the cock head hard, dragging the wand to the mercenary’s Adam’s apple where he locked his pituitary for just a moment. “You deserved those blue balls you got, you low life  _ reprobate _ .”

Ranzal dropped him. 

Kleimann fell, the impact went through his body, and he grunted. But that soon turned into a laugh as he sat and looked straight forward. He was treated with the sight of Ranzal’s cock throbbing in his pants. He wasn’t gonna shoot, Kleimann made sure of that. But he was hard, thick and wet. It was almost enough to get Kleimann going himself. “Next time you try and fuck with someone, don’t get cocky and think you can half-ass it!.” He stood. Ranzal was blushing hard. Just like when he’d had that girl on his arm, ready to make her cum all over herself without regard for everyone around him. “You wanna leave?” He asked suddenly. “Go ahead!” He flicked his wand over to the door. It swung open almost violently. Looks like he was just a little worked up himself. “Leave. Go fuck your bunny  _ slut _ . But if you do, your reputation goes with you.”

“I ain’t afraid...” the mercenary started. “Say whatever you want—“

This bastard didn’t  _ get _ it. Kleimann pushed his wand down on the man’s dick. He felt it throb hard and needy through the wood. Why did the best cocks almost always belong to the biggest idiots? “Didn’t I make it clear today?” He traced the head, making sure this idiot paid attention as he enunciated every word. “I. Don’t. Care. For. Gossip.”

Ranzal put his thick hand around Kleimann’s wrist. “S-stop—“

“If  _ I  _ saw, then  _ everyone _ saw.” He whispered. He moved his wand up, leaving the throbbing cock and moving it to Ranzal’s chin. He looked good like this, with a practiced wand pulsing at his face, threatening him, purple shadow glow running across his rugged features. Shame for his personality. “You’re well liked, I’ll grant you that. But if you don’t honor your word and stick around,” he let himself smile again, let himself enjoy the look on Ranzal’s face. “Then it wouldn’t take much deduction for people to realize it. I don’t gossip.” He said. “But they might.”

Was Ranzal the type of man that didn’t keep his word?

“What would our  _ Prince _ think of you, if he knew what you got up to in your leisure?”

Ranzal’s hand flew—then stopped at about a centimeter shy of Kleimann’s cheek. 

Frowning, he ignored it. “I am not wrong.” He never was. 

The mercenary let go of his wrist slowly. Withdrew his other hand from his face. Arms at his side, he still sneered down. “...you’re fucking awful.”

Kleimann nodded. He didn’t disagree. “Good boy.”

Kleimann summoned a table from the closet. It dressed itself with two candles, another folder, and an ink and quill. Right between the two chairs. “Now, sit, again. I have to explain how you’ll be recompensing me for my lost night.”

—-

Ranzal sat down, coughed in his hand. He was still processing what had just happened. As his leg shifted, he felt the wetness in his pants and underwear from his precum, and he looked right at Kleimannn. The man was conjuring diagrams like he hadn’t just groped Ranzal and left him at the edge. Few people had tried that before. Even fewer had succeeded. He groaned, feeling the ache of denied desire. 

Kleimann had a tiny smile on his face. He had heard that. 

“Don’t see what’s so bad about dragging your ass out to socialize like a normal person.” Ranzal had honestly been trying to push Kleimann out of this stuffy lab. It was weird and darker than the rest of the Haldiom. How did he spend hours here? Could he even read? Only a few orbs of mana-light cast the bare-minimum of acceptable illumination down on them. The center of the lab was an empty space, with remnants of chalk and dirt below their feet that Ranzal guessed was proof that Kleimann drew magic circles often. Around the perimeter of this flat space, the walls were lined thick with glass vials of varying sizes that pulsed with neon blues (as if that passed for comfortable reading light). Fiend limbs floated in the test tubes, and Ranzal looked away from an eye that had turned towards him, nearly flinching at the sight of the slit pupil. 

Holy fuck. “Fuck me for trying to do something good, I guess.”

“If you could comprehend what the loss of a full blue moon’s mana means to someone like me, you wouldn’t have dared to take me away from this place.” Kleimann muttered, his features outlined by the glows of his experiments more than by the lights above. The way he frowned, the way the lights accented his face and his lips, he seemed genuinely annoyed. Then he pointed that damned wand at Ranzal, tilting it down. “And did we not already establish you didn’t, in fact, do anything good?”

“...’S how I get when I’m drunk.” He wouldn’t apologize. 

“You should stop drinking altogether.” The mage said. “Filthy habit. Makes beasts out of men.”

Again, being lectured about filth by a man who had copped  _ quite _ the  _ good _ feel on him while threatening his life. Fucking prick. Ranzal pushed his feeling of shame and regret for not having used his right hand during his match deep down. 

Fuck this guy. 

“...how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long do I need to stick around with your ass?”

“Ah, finally a good question.” Kleimann sounded pleased as he clapped his hands. Bipolar weirdo. “Well, I said one month in the bar just out of need for a general time frame. But let's do a little math to see how close my guesstimate was. Or, let  _ me _ do it.” He said in his hoity-toity bullshit way as he began to draw in the air with his wand. “We’re in the Fifth Month of the year, which gives us the Theta-Sigma dynamic of natural flow. Now, roughly estimating the quality of blue moon mana in general...” 

Ranzal tuned him out. 

He watched his glyphs. He was integrating for the flux of mana, he could tell that much. But watching Kleimann do math made the enterprise more draining that it already was. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t give a shit about the results of those formulas. “...hmm, Jackson’s constant is below 0.7.” Kleimann muttered to himself. Ranzal watched. It was almost insane how this man, who had been so ready to fry his face and tease the living daylights out of him just a few seconds ago, was now so involved in his work. 

Ranzal peered at his hands as they moved around. 

He’d touched Ranzal, made him pre all over himself like a _fucking_ _teenager_. 

He had to feel the residue in his hands. He had to. 

The notion that Ranzal’s dick didn’t leave some lasting impression made him sour even further. His mind filled with the busty babe from the bar, with her warm pussy and her wet, needy sounds. God, why couldn’t he be with her instead? Or with anyone else, for that matter? He would rather be spanked and made to clean the floors naked by a dominatrix than stay here another second. 

The memory of Kleimann’s wand on his neck made the skin around it tingle. 

...fuck. He was hard again. 

“...interesting.” Kleimann muttered. 

“Huh?” Ranzal sighed. Ignore it. Let it go down. Down. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He had control. “What? Mess up somewhere in your math? Forget to carry a prime?” He intentionally made himself sound as dumb as possible. 

Kleimann turned to him, his mouth scowling in a way that told Ranzal that he was a fucking moron. Ranzal knew little of magic, enough to know that primes wouldn’t be involved in this kind of thing. But if Kleimann insisted on being such a douchenozzle, then he was gonna get to spend time with a ‘reprobate’, as he’d called him. 

But Kleimann was calm. “I know you’re not schooled, but don’t yap about.” Ranzal almost hit him again, but the memory of his lips on his ear and his hand in his dick made him stop from raising his twitching hand. “What’s interesting is, according to my calculations, you robbed me of three months’s worth of mana.”

Ranzal’s eyes went wide. “WHAT?!” He stood, looked at the math. He knew some of what he saw, the integration, sure—but things quickly reached a level that he didn’t understand. “Fuck that!” He glared at the mage. “You said one back at the bar.”

Kleimann shrugged. “It’s plain as day, my good chum!” He chuckled. “Do you need me to walk you through this operation?”

“You’re making shit up, and you—“ No, fuck no. He was not going to spend three whole months at the beck and call of this lunatic. “Like this thing!” He jabbed at something that was definitely not a number or letter of the Alberian alphabet. It looked so fake it hurt. “What the fuck is this?!”

“That,” the mage traced his work as he spoke, moving around the space he’d written in. “is Luryell’s factor. Part of the greater Flux equation, which gives us the necessary order of integration to get Jackson’s constant.” He wiggled his wand at the other, new thing. Integration used that? Ranzal hid his discomfort. “Do you want me to explain it to you? Because I can.” Kleimann’s smile plainly showed his glee at showing off how much he knew about all this witchery bull crap. “If you want, we could spend the afternoon learning math.”

Ranzal gave up. “No. No  _ thank  _ you.”

“Oh, pity.I quite like this formula.” But Kleimann shrugged like he didn’t particularly care either way, which proved his previous inclination to offer an explanation had been performative, which meant that  _ all _ this had been performative on the whole, which meant that he was an asshole. “In any case, you have your answer. Three months of helping me with this,” he opened the folder on the table. “And we’ll be even.”

Ranzal sighed. Ok. Calm down, just relax. This was just what he had to go through because Kleimann was stronger than he looked, and because Ranzal had been cocky enough to jack off a girl instead of giving him what he deserved. He’d been in worse situations before, much worse, and those he hadn’t even deserved. It was bullshit, but he’d survive. Surveying the papers before him, the mercenary squinted. “...you showed this to Euden.”

“I keep several copies of all my documents in case of emergencies.” Ranzal rolled his eyes at how unnecessary all that was. “I know it’s not in your nature to be so organized, but as an educated man, I’m—“

Fuck him. 

“Ah, shut up, you old book. Can’t ya just explain it to me?” He yawned. 

Kleimann cocked his head. “Pardon?”

“I’m a reprobate, right? Said so yourself. A big dumb meat head. I can’t even understand simple math.” Ranzal leaned back in his chair, took the liberty of putting his feet on the desk and balancing himself. “See, I ain’t too good with all this science shit. Just tell me what ya want me to do and I’ll do it so we can both get on with our goddamned lives.”

Kleimann, whom he could no longer see because he was too busy staring up at the ceiling, sounded annoyed. “You can read. I  _ know _ you can. I’ve seen you write.”

Ranzal frowned. When did this asshole see him do that? Ugh, the thought of him observing him wasn’t welcome. “I know basic shit; you pick it up in my line of work.” Ranzal shrugged. “But ya can’t expect me to understand all your hocus pocus.”

Ranzal was many things. He was a mercenary who had some blood on his hands (all guilty blood, he’d made sure). He was a man of the people, who loved good food, good drink, and good ass. He was good and comfortable with lying. He was an adventurer who craved the simple things—but he wasn’t an idiot. Kleimann was the sort of person who got off on his supposed intelligence. He relished putting people down, making them struggle and fail to reach his lofty, bitch-ass standards. He’d shown that side of himself just now, as well as many times before in his short time at the Halidom. Ranzal knew many people like that. It had been easy to realize Kleimann was barely different than the people in his past. He’d understood that about him from day one. He looked up, saw Kleimann’s mask, and grinned maliciously. “Sorry about that, chief.”

The mage made a noise, but then sighed and stood up. “I suppose it can’t be helped. And proper research etiquette demands I secure your informed consent, anyways.”

Ranzal was satisfied, but then he frowned. Kleimann cared about informed— 

Then he fell and hit the floor. By some miracle his neck was still bent forward enough so that the back of his head didn’t hit the ground, but it still hurt like a motherfucker. “Argh! What the fuck!?”

Kleimann was standing over him, grinning. His guilty foot tapped the ground in glee. “Stand up, my boy. I’ll be explaining everything to you so you can understand.” He walked away. 

Ranzal groaned, rolled over and got on his knees. Old fuck. “It ain’t  _ nice _ to trip people up like that, old man.”

“It also isn’t nice to lie about your abilities, but if you insist, I’ll spoon feed you everything.” Kleimann shrugged as he cast his table away and moved his chairs to the side. “Now be a good boy and take off your shirt while I get everything ready.”

Ranzal blinked. He almost felt Kleimann’s hot breath on his ear again. 

“Oh, that’s right, I’m explaining everything, aren’t I?” He did not let up, this one. Kleimann’s wand bloomed with color as he moved it in the air. “Every organism in this world is subject to the flow of mana and the laws of its resultant physics. One of the clearest signs of this influence we’ve identified is that everyone is born with a decided leaning towards one of these flavors of energy.”

Ranzal stared. The ground was bending to form rods and pipes that stuck up and connected to each other in series. What was this man planning? “For example,” Kleimann offered. “You know me as a shadow mage, correct?”

His wand was glowing purple after all. Ranzal looked at his own hand for a moment. “Yeah. And I’m wind-attuned.” He has always been sensitive to burns, which had made venturing out of the watery landscape of Aquapolis difficult at times. His father had always said he had it too easels, that the fishes just lost their scales to him when he used his knife, and that real life wasn’t as simple as killing fiends. Bastard old man could take his watery ass to the grave. “What of it?”

The mage was walking around as he talked, his wand moving in tune with some rhythm. “The common perception is that we hold one element in ourselves, and we deal with that for the duration of our lives. But that’s quite simplistic and, frankly, needlessly reductionist.” Kleimann was now summoning some...things, strings with bands attached to some rock? “If you were only made of wind, you’d be precisely that, wouldn’t you? Air molecules dancing around. No cock to get lapped at by pretty bunny girls.” He shot him a wild grin. Perverted fucker. Ranzal turned away, crossing his arms. “But you’ve got a penis, don’t you? Solid one at that.”

“Stop talking about my junk.” He threatened. 

“Then stop thinking with it.”

Ranzal groaned. 

“Everything has some level of every element inside it. It is the balance of these forces that gives us form, shape, that allow for the proteins in our bodies to reach their complex—oh, my apologies!” Kleimann stopped. “I’m making things too complicated again, aren’t I?”

Ranzal scowled. One day, Kleimann wouldn’t smile so widely anymore. “No. Issue.”

The mage kept going. “But you get the point, don’t you? Your body houses all elements inside it. All living beings do. It is this interplay that allows for life to exist.” He gestured to his work. “If I didn’t have such a complex constitution, how could I be manipulating the earth you see before you?”

Ranzal touched the rods that had now finished forming. They were smoothening under his grasp. “...uh, magic supplement?” He’d heard about that, about using magic from another source if you needed more. 

The mage then shook his head, snickering like he’d just heard a good joke. “Using a battery, for something like  _ this _ ? For a glorified jungle gym?” Kleimann laughed out loud. The shrill sound echoed off the walls. “Oh, you wound me, Ranzal! You wound me so!”

Ranzal shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Shirt off. Now.”

“Ughhh.” But he began to take off his armor, undoing every clasp and feeling the pressure lighten. Ranzal took care not to let any of his equipment fall to the ground. 

Kleimann kept talking. Ranzal acted like he didn’t care. “To put it in perspective, you’ve seen how you and your comrades fight. Sometimes, they’ve used techniques that they don’t usually preform.” Ranzal paused for just a moment. “For example, that Lowen boy. He’s a wind-healer, yet I distinctly remember him lighting fiends on fire while his sister ran around with him on her back last Halloween.” The image of Lowen dancing around, smiling so sweetly with embers of all colors flying around him and his sister, made Ranzal relax. “See, those who are old enough or talented enough can tap into their other elements and change that which is expressed most dominantly to the world.”

“I...I think I get it.” His father, when he fought, danced like water. Yet Ranzal distinctly remembered one time when he punched a fiend so hard it flew back and exploded against a wall with a flash of light. He’d been particularly angry that day. “...so, people have different ways to push out their mana.”

“Yes. Good way to put it.” Kleimann’s wand ceased humming just as Ranzal put his shirt over his eyes.

The mercenary grabbed at the fabric. “So can people just pick any mana element they want?” To him, that sounded weird. 

“Oh, in an ideal world—but no. I’m fairly certain, for instance, that that Lowen boy doesn’t have the skill to exhibit another element besides fire and wind. People usually have one or two flavors of mana they are attuned to.” The shirt came off. Kleimann was smiling, and Ranzal wished he’d cut it out. He still wasn’t over his dick being man-handled. “But that’s precisely the reason I’m performing this experiment! To make this world a more ideal one!”

Ranzal folded his shirt. “You’re...going to make me show you my mana?”

Kleimann bent down and picked up the things with the strings. “I’m going to call mana from you that you haven’t exhibited before. The goal of this is to measure the way the body reacts to a new style of energy coursing through it, which is why you’ll have to put these on.” There were seven in all. The bands were black with white markings. “So, these go around your biceps here. Stretch your arms out. All the way.”

Ranzal did as he was told. Feeling Kleimann’s hands on him again (less angry this time) made him remember the strength he had displayed in the bar. Was he really that strong? But mages weren’t supposed to—his breath hitched when Kleimann put a band around his neck. It fit snuggly, molded itself to fit him perfectly, as did the others around his arms. “As far as I’m aware from your files—all obtained with permission from the medical bay, by the way—you only have the initial potential for wind mana. If I can call a completely unrelated element out of you, then—“

“Hold on.” Ranzal said. Kleimann’s hands stopped at his back, right below his shoulders. “Who gave you permission?”

Kleimann tsk-tsk’ed from where he could not see. The sound was sharp. “Now now, that’s improper for research environments. Organizations are faceless, unless we request specific information on their members.”

“Well, I’m  _ requesting _ info now.”

“Can’t give it to you. It’s not relevant to this experiment.” He sounded like he was pleased at Ranzal’s discomfort. 

“Why not?!” He was getting mad again. 

“Knowing which healer gave me your information isn’t going to help my research in any way. It won’t hinder it either. It’s just unimportant.” Kleimann was at his front again. He molded two bands into flat circles and attached them to Ranzal’s pectorals. 

His muscles shivered at the touch. The things were close to where he’d been smacked by that goblin earlier this morning. “Cold.”

“Apologies. This material is chilly by design.”

Ranzal resolved to find out just who gave Kleimann his charts, but put the thought away. Focusing on that now wasn’t going to get him anywhere—and these things were so cold he was getting goosebumps on his skin. His body hair was close to standing up. 

“So...how are you gonna make me test your theory?” He asked. When offered a chair, he took it. 

Kleimann put two small black circles on Ranzal’s temples (fucking cold), then sat down opposite to him. “I’ll have you exercise, and I’ll record your vitals and nervous signals.”

“...that’s it?” Ranzal was suspicious. The notion that Kleimann was going through all this trouble just to see Ranzal break a sweat in front of him was dubious at best. 

“What did you think I was going to do?” Kleimann frowned. 

“Well, you were pissed yesterday...”

“My boy.” Ranzal did not appreciate being called ‘boy’. Especially not by this bastard. “I am a scientist. I don’t torture.”

Ranzal squinted. 

“...well, not most sentient life forms, anyways!” He cackled. Ranzal groaned. Of course. “But you need not worry. Your life is not in danger. You’ll be uncomfortable, most likely, considering how mana tends to flow within the body, but there is nothing life-threatening about this.”

Euden must’ve seen that in his reading of the document. He wouldn’t hand Ranzal over to some mas experiment otherwise. “...then why don’t you get another test subject?”

Kleimann smiled slyly. “I suppose for a number of reasons. This is a new venture, I’m not close enough to most people yet where I could ask them for their cooperation...” then he crossed his legs, and Ranzal could see a hint of the mad mage that tore through the battlefield. “...but I do suppose I enjoy the prospect of making you do things you don’t wish to do.”

There it was. They were getting to be on the same page. Ranzal raised an eyebrow. “So you’re a bastard after all.”

“Perhaps I am.” The mage mused. “Perhaps I simply want others to appreciate the academic world.”

Ugh. 

Ranzal crossed his arms. He only had to endure this bullshit for three months, then he’d say fuck off to Kleimann and ignore him forever. “So, you need me to do some pull ups for you now?” 

He made to stand, but Kleimann raised his wand. “I prefer to have my test subjects be in peak condition to gain starting measurements. And you...”

“I was fighting fiends.”

“So well give it one day before we start the heavy lifting.” Kleimann said. “I don’t particularly mind your fighting philosophy one way or the other, but the way you bite off more than you can chew interferes with my plans. We do this my way.”

Ranzal, in any other circumstance, would’ve protested. He would’ve claimed he was as fit as an ox, as virile as one too, and that if anyone wanted to think him weak could eat his ass. But if this meant one less day of actually doing what Kleimann wanted him to do, he’d take it. The man deserved for his research to flop. “Well, guess I can’t help it then.”

“No,” Kleimann said. “Seems you cannot.”

He touched the stone that was connected to the black things on Ranzal’s body. The strings pulsed white and disappeared. Ranzal blinked. “Wireless. Can’t have you moving around if there’s something getting in the way.” Kleimann explained. “Now, let me just put this calcite here...” he took out a white-ish rock, and it began to spin above the larger stone’s flat top. 

“Do I...have to do anything?”

“Just sit there. Uncross your arms.” He waved his wand at him. Rude. “Put your hands on your knees.” Ranzal rolled his eyes, but complied. He watched as Kleimann drew weird glyphs in the air, as they were drained into the white rock. Ranzal began to breathe slower. He started concentrating on his body, wondering if he was going to feel anything strange. 

He closed his eyes. 

His mind wandered back to the fight of this morning. He’d gone fiend hunting with Euden, on assignment from one of the neighboring villages that had asked for the Prince’s help. Strong fiends had been there, but they’d been slow, and Ranzal had gotten saucy with his attacks. Sure, he’d gotten hit, but it hadn’t been bad...

The fiends had been water-attuned, after all. He was naturally disposed to win against them. Or at least, to withstand them. Water fiends were the easiest to kill, but the way they tended to move and leave their weird, tinged moisture on everything made them his least favorite. In that sense, leaving Aquapolis behind had been good for him. Fighting didn’t  _ have _ to make him sickened anymore. 

He’d gotten hit in the chest. He remembered the goblin that had done it. Fucking thing had that type of murderous look on its face that Ranzal loved to wipe away with the blade of his axe—but it did hurt. It definitely hurt. He could feel it again, the impact at his sternum. Euden had to swoop in and save him with his flashy royal swordsmanship. It frustrated Ranzal—he was supposed to keep Euden safe. Not the other way around. 

_ ‘Every hit you take is a hit to Saint Lotier. Stop charging in. Protect yourself.’ _

He wanted to protect Euden. He’d finally found someone to pledge himself to. Someone who respected him, who gave him work he wanted.

_ ‘You are the heir to Saint Lotier and all its fortune. Raise your strength. Your people will need it.’ _

He never wanted to be responsible for people like that. He wanted to join them, not stare down at them from afar. 

_ ‘Ranzal, why must you endeavor to disappoint me so?’ _

If he could do it again, if he could fight that goblin, he would’ve grabbed its goddamned club and broken it in his hands. He would torn it to shreds. Choked the life out of it. 

The fiend in his mind’s eye transformed into his father, sneering at him like he used to. 

It pissed him off. 

“Oh my.”

Ranzal opened his eyes. 

He didn’t necessarily feel...different. Just angry at his thoughts. But Kleimann had a very excited look on his face. “The fuck is up, old man?”

“Just that I may have succeeded in something _ spectacular..! _ ” He bounced a little in his chair. 

Ranzal scratched at his chin, and then he saw it. Wisps of purple and black coming off his fingers. His hand—his entire arm—was pulsing with these dark purple ribbons. He took a breath. Something did feel a little different. Like...like a horse he regularly rode on when it got a new saddle, or when he tried a new model of axe. 

“...what the fuck?”

“You’re responding well to my call of your shadow mana.” Kleimann said. He was giddy. “Stand up! Stand up!” Ranzal did so, feeling the different sensation flow through his legs and arms. “It’s not a total change in your magic circuitry’s alignment, of course. But it’s something.” Ranzal was handed a wooden pole. The shape and inscriptions immediately registered. This was a medical tool for determining a child’s dominant mana element. This version had been sized up to fit better in his adult hands. “Pulse your power through here, just as you do with your regular weapon.”

Ranzal did as he was told. His stomach flexed, revealing his abs as his pectorals brought themselves together. The wood suddenly began to crack slightly under his grip, and within the cracks, he saw lines of green and purple. 

It reminded him of the time when he tested out his mana with his father and their personal medic as a boy. How his father had been so excited at the prospect of a leader that could lay easy waste to the fiends of his land. How green became his favorite color after that, and how he came to hate blue years later. 

“Holy fuck.”

“Indeed. Indeed.”

But then, just as Ranzal had started to grin, the purple bits in the axe turned green, and it all reminded him a little too much of that day. The patterns of the lights were almost completely identical, and his grip grew lax. “Hey!” He looked up, shaking his head and feeling very much ordinary again. “What happened? Why’s it gone?”

Kleimann took the blessed wood from Ranzal. The white rock was no longer spinning atop the larger stone, and wires had reattached themselves to his body. “I confirmed my initial thoughts about you for this experiment, but you’re not going to do anything hard today.” He twirled the wooden dowel in his fingers with fluid ease. “We discussed this.”

“That’s an exercise for children.” Ranzal protested. “I can—“

“You  _ want _ to do this now?” Kleimann interrupted. Ranzal blinked. “Well, what a quick turnaround on your part. But don’t you even notice how sweaty you are?”

Sweaty?

...Ranzal smelled himself in the air. And he also felt tired. He sat down and felt the moisture at his stomach and chest, felt it running down his arms. He shook his head, feeling moisture in his hair. Even the area around the sensors was wet.  _ What? _ Kleimann noted something down quickly. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

They took a break. 

Ranzal was allowed to remove the sensors. He was given a towel to wipe off his sweat, and Kleimann offered tea. Ranzal said he preferred water, and Kleimann didn’t press. According to the mage, Ranzal wasn’t used to this process yet. He’d get acclimated in time, but because of the presence of a nerve-calming drug like honeydew flake in his system, he had been out of balance. 

“...why is it shadow?” Ranzal asked after a while. He flexed his fingers. All wind, for sure. “I don’t get that part. None of my family members carried that element.”

“It’s not necessary that they  _ did _ carry it. Remember, we hold all of them inside us.” Kleimann drank from his tea cup, the image of formality and male grace. Eugh. “I don’t often use batteries. They’re not my style. As such, I injected you with a bit of my own shadow mana and triggered the reaction that way. That’s what makes this process so effective,” he put the cup down. “yet so initially taxing. It’s a foreign entity in your system, there to make your body learn how to trigger the reaction by itself.” Kleimann stretched his fingers. Was he tired too? Didn’t look like it. Then again, this man probably had stores of mana as a mage. “What’s wrong? You wish for a different color?” He suddenly asked him. 

“No...no, I just,” Ranzal finished his water. “I expected something different.”

“You want that instead?” The mage asked, genuinely curious. 

No. No he didn’t want that. “I don’t care either way.” He lied, because Kleimann didn’t need to know anything about him. 

Kleimann nodded slowly. Then he brought the wand out, and made his tea cups and tea pot go away. “Well, I expect you to be here tomorrow an hour before sunrise.”

“Sunrise?!” Ranzal coughed. 

“It has to be so, sadly. Otherwise your quota for information won’t be filled in three months.” Kleimann smirked. “See, science is serious business.”

Serious business? He spat.


	3. Academic Accolades and Late Night Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The experiments begin, and while Kleimann begins to organize his data, Ranzal experiments with the capacity of the power granted to him by science.

**_“Esteemed Colleagues, it is a pleasure to write to you on the matter of this new endeavor which I am about to undertake. Though, as it is surely known by now, that my mission is ultimately of a singular aim and that I propose no other focus for my life—we must all make ends meet. And it may give me new perspective yet._ **

**_The young Euden, seventh heir to the throne of the late Alberian Empire, has entrusted me with a research initiative to bolster the military might of those who seek to ally with his cause. If this letter is intercepted by those who ally themselves with Dyrenell, then may the gentlemen of good stature and wise learning rest assured that I am waiting to kill the traitorous prince at the earliest opportunity—and if not, if this letter truly arrives for the one it was meant for, then I’m sure you’ve already dismantled the insanity spell I hid in the previous sentence. Though I know your capabilities would not allow you to be best by such an insult of a hex, I do ask for your forgiveness. Can’t be too careful in wartime, you know!!_ **

**_As a courtesy to my young and boisterous leader, I will be peppering this entire letter with the most fun charms and spells. If your eyeballs bubble in your skull or your liver turns to dust inside you, then we will know who truly was the worst magician among us three. But if you’re still alive by the time you finish my correspondence, then I invite you to hide your best mindworms and heart-stranglers in your corresponding novel of a response. I’ll be waiting <3_ **

**_Now, back to the issue at hand!!_ **

**_As you are all no doubt well-read in our dear colleague Michaelangelo’s Treatsie of the Inner Pentagon (and well, well aware of his awful, meandering style of writing) then you must, of course, remember the way every single subject under his care was driven mad. Indeed, a pity to lose such willing research participants, but if our friend had bothered to look at the underlying mechanics of his thaumaturgic conceptual base, he would’ve quickly realized that his experimental design was doomed for failure. I still report, after 7 years, that I count myself lucky to have not accepted his invitation to participate. I could not bear either to have my name be come associated with his bombastic failure, nor to have my body expire in conditions so sub-optimally conceived._ **

**_Yet I believe that I have ‘cracked the code’, as one of my youngest colleagues here at Lord Euden’s Halidom so often says (it would be of great benefit for her to meet you one day). If the core problem (and there were_ ** **_many_ ** **_problems) in Michaelangelo’s attempt was that he fed mana to his subjects that had been stored within batteries, then the solution is to give the subject mana from a living host. It is a simple application of Helga’s Biologic Resonance Theorem, but to achieve breakthroughs in both science and the arts, it is imperative to never forget the basics. As such, I will be delivering the mana to my subject from my own body. As I know my own Lunar Cycle down to the second, it should make for ease of delivery via conductive nodes of obsidian paste, similar to the ones we used in our capstone project back at Silvergale. It is quite nostalgic to bring out the old octopus again, hee hee hee!!_ **

**_I’ve included all pertinent documents within this delivery, as well as biometrics for my research subject—with all identifying information censored, save for that which is absolutely necessary to understand where the experiment stands. It should not be too long a reading list, but if your eyes are losing their strength, you needn’t endeavor to fully understand the scale of my budding genius! At the very least, pay attention to the notes and readings for the preliminary examination, which the confirms the zodiac compatibility needed for this type of experiment. I think you will find that my well of talent still provides plenty of water!_ **

**_May you reach the Root and drink from Merlin’s cup,_ **

**_Kleimann_ **

  
  
  


He had written the letters after dismissing Ranzal from his room, nearly missing dinner in his own excitement (Sinoa had been kind enough to knock on his door and remind him to come up, which merited her a small mention in Kleimann’s estimation). But that was how it had to be done, for it was tradition to have regular letters accompany the development of an experiment. This was how all academic mages worked, all the way back to Merlin and his cohort. It was a way to both maintain ties over periods of time, and to create additional records for the sake of future generations. Gave young mages a bit of a boost in ‘street cred’ too, if they could secure a famed magician’s correspondence. 

In the dark of night, under the soft light of the slightly waning moon, Kleimann had equipped two hawks with the two identical sets of documents, and had watched them leave. He giggled in his bed as he remembered. Heinwald would no doubt be excited to hear about his latest endeavor, and Cassandra’s letter would probably have as many hexes to be considered a demonic relic by the Church. At the thought of someone like Hildegarde reading it by mistake, Kleimann erupted into laughter and choked it with his pillow. Poor woman would turn into an axe murderer!

The next morning, before his meeting with Ranzal, he had one letter with for him at his mailbox. These birds really deserved more treats. 

**_“I fear for your subject’s life and sanity. Don’t fuck this up._ **

**_Root be yours,_ **

**_—Heinwald”_ **

A man after his own heart! And he’s included a trinket, too! Kleimann stared fondly at the dirty napkin before black fire engulfed it. Ah, such a good friend. 

Ranzal, to his credit, was only 10 minutes late the first day. He wore a frown so deep that if Kleimann could’ve bottled it, it would fuel quite a prickly curse. It wasn’t driven so much by fatigue (for Ranzal was the kind of man who got up early), but by annoyance. The pre-dawn seemed to be his preferred alone time, and now he was spending it with Kleimann. 

Kleimann didn’t know why that made him mad. He was a hoot to hang out with!

Ranzal’s injuries had healed enough for Kleimann to note down a base level of his biologic activity. His sculpted muscles rippled as the mage placed the sensory patches on their respective locations, which made the mage snicker. “You’re not as hardened as I thought you’d be, mercenary. Looks like we’re both made of skin.”

“Shut up.” But he let Kleimann touch his neck. The mage was impressed by the strength of the pulse that ran along the jugular. It was like he was working with an ox. 

Kleimann tended to sit down as he watched Ranzal work his body. Due to the early time in which he conducted his research, the mage only wore his usual trousers and an undershirt along with his trusted mask. Sure, he could don his full outfit, but he was not immune to the delicious feeling of an early wind running across his chest hair. And if Ranzal was going to be exposing himself down to his undergarments, then he may as well show some limited solidarity. 

Ranzal’s hackles had risen sharply when Kleimann had tapped his hip. “Relax,” he assured. “I simply need you to undress completely.”

“Why the fuck do you need that?!” Ranzal hissed. “You ain’t gonna cop another feel, you pervert witch.”

The memory of Ranzal’s thick hog distracted him from his inclination to smack the man for his indiscretion. He snickered instead. “I’m the pervert?”

“You are.”

Kleimann smiled wider. “My fingers weren’t the ones knuckle-deep in Sylvan—“

Ranzal shooed him away. His angry face made a very genuine laugh bubble from Kleimann’s throat. When he was done laughing, the mercenary was halfway through pushing his left leg out of his pants. Just like the upper body, the legs were sculpted. After a pause, Ranzal crossed his arms. “I ain’t takin this off.” He looked like he was daring Kleimann to make fun of his choice of underwear. 

Kleimann didn’t personally care, but would note down the information for later. Heart-shaped blackmail could come in handy. “I need no obstructions, boy. Stop being obstinate.”

Ranzal leaned into his personal space. “Suck my dick.”

Kleimann looked down. “...I’ve had bigger.” 

Ranzal blinked, then scowled. Good. 

If Ranzal truly had such an issue with nudity, he wouldn’t press. Either he would stop being so concerned with modesty (let it be repeated that Kleimann had seen him  _ masturbating _ a woman he had only met that night), or he’d die with that pole up his ass. It wouldn’t take a lot to correct for any interference from that underwear. So he let Ranzal fume and struggle to come up with a comeback as he walked away and set up his chair. 

“You’ll do a basic routine today.” He spoke as he summoned his grimorie and began to set up his recording spell. A quill made of mana materialized and bled into the the paper, activating its pages for the mage to use. “Pull ups, push ups, and sit ups. We’ll finish with a 30 minute run, and after a short break, you’ll do it all a second time.”

Ranzal stretched, then walked over to one of the bars that had been raised up from the ground. “Alright.” His tough hands gripped the metal, and the man’s pulse registered on Kleimann’s pages. 

“Don’t over-exert yourself.” He warned, smirking. “There’s no need for you to try to impress me.”

“Why,” Ranzal grunted as he raised himself slowly, methodically, up with his arms. “would I do—“ his Adam’s apple reached past the bar. “that?”

“Don’t you physical types get competitive?”

Ranzal shot him a look and continued on his own. 

And so it was like that for the first week. Basic movements, basic repetitions. Kleimann sent his mana through his diodes, and Ranzal reacted as his body allowed. 

The mage was no liar. He would be honest and admit that watching the mercenary move his body was somewhat of a treat. Ranzal’s way of life had given him muscles built for strength, large and efficient. His brown skin soon glistened with sweat as his body temperature rose to a level high enough to provoke it. His back muscles rolled as he pushed himself off the ground, and his glutes contracted with the repetitive movement of his push ups. Kleimann would be able to see the skin through those undergarments if he got sweaty enough. But let’s be professionals here! He put one leg over the other, anticipating his member’s reaction. He could see what made the mercenary so popular with the sexual common folk, the way he grunted and breathed sharply through his nose hinted at the power locked within his body. He made similar noises when he fought, now that Kleimann thought about it. He also liked to clench his lips in a similar way. The mage breathed through his nose. If he put a little drop of mana into his nasal glands, he could smell the testosterone in the air. 

Testosterone. He looked at his grimoire, turned the pages to check the hormone levels of his test subject, and noticed a spike in hormones relevant to arduous physical activity just as his mana began to react within his body. Ranzal’s constitution was now exhibiting shadow traits. Coils of purple and black softly dressed his shoulders.  _ Ahh _ . 

Kleimann may enjoy a show or two, but he also understood when to focus and observe his world from a clinical standpoint. Ranzal’s body reacted to his mana by secreting hormones associated with muscular activity and endurance. The testosterone in the air was further evidence that this kind of experiment was promoting physiological reactions in his body. Well, he was glad. That fool Michaelangelo’s report had also noted hormonal changes, but they were primarily associated with the grey matter of the central nervous system. An analysis of several of his test subjects (the ones that had been fit for testing...) had revealed key imbalances in their brain chemistry and their magic circuit configuration, ergo, their madness and lack of coherent thought. As expected, Helga’s Resonance Theorem of Biologics had proven itself once more. Because this new mana was coming from living (willing) hosts, Ranzal’s body was not having these terrible adverse effects. The mage congratulated himself, but of course, he’d keep an eye out on those hormones. It wouldn’t do to have Ranzal become more of an arrogant buffoon than he already was. 

Though even arrogant buffoons were subject to admiring the nature around them. 

Ranzal was now crouching down. He flexed his hand, observing the way his body felt with this new induced configuration, no doubt. His curiosity seemed almost odd on his face. A simple barbarian should not have such a deep look. “How is it?” Kleimann ventured. 

He frowned up at him. “I can feel your mana inside me. Feels fuckin’ weird.”

Hmmm. He noted that down. A common symptom, but not a dangerous one. “That sensation should pass as your body becomes accustomed to my influence.” He leaned forward. “What does it feel like for you?”

He stretched. Was it really possible for a man to be so mountain-like? Well, he supposed it was, if he was looking at such a man. “...like hands are grabbin’ me all over.”

Kleimann nodded. “No pain?”

“None.” He shook his head. His hair was ever so slightly damp. 

And so the exercises continued. 

Ranzal was surprised to learn that Kleimann would not be taking him away from his duties for the entire day. Said he expected to be made to stay in ‘this stuffy hole in the ground’ forever. The mage marveled at his social ineptitude. “That is partly why I requested for you to come so early. You are one of our Prince’s strongest warriors. If I were to reserve you all to myself, I might cripple our forces.”

“Oh.” He wore this very dumb look on his face that made Kleimann want to chuck another towel at him. He refrained. Ranzal then smiled like he was proud. “That’s cool.” Simpleton.

But he had proven to be an adequate research subject, and Kleimann gave credit where it was due. “You did good today.” He stood, calling down the raised exercise equipment and handing the man a book. “But you were right, somewhat. Your work for me does not simply end at morning. You will keep a journal of your feelings and symptoms, which will serve as an additional account of information for me to corroborate with the hard data I acquire.”

Ranzal stared at the thin book in his hand as though it were made of fiend sweat. Certainly touched it like it were. “What??” He murmured something under his breath that Kleimann tactfully chose to ignore. “I ain’t good with this type of stuff, I already told ya.” 

Kleimann gently pushed the book open with his mana. He gestured to several boxes with ranges. “I’ve made it easy for both of us. You will quantify your reactions and sensations at the end of each day, in every category, on a scale of 1 to 5. It’s all written out. All you need is to check the boxes.” He smirked up at the man. “I know you can at least hold a quill.”

Ranzal’s frown tickled something inside the older mage. He shut the book, put it in his back pocket, and nodded. “I’ll fill it out on my own time, ya hear?”

They both exited Kleimann’s lab. “As long as you don’t lose it.Give it to me to check at the end of each week.”

Thus was established their routine. 

Ranzal, despite his penchant for being loud and boisterous out in the open, was not much for conversation in the laboratory environment, and that was fine with Kleimann. He didn’t need to force himself—especially because losing concentration would hamper the mage’s goal. However, he would occasionally display echoes of the curiosity that filled his features whenever he examined his own body. 

Once, when he was pulling his body up with his arms and his pectorals clenched together, he turned his eyes Kleimann. “So, what’s in this for you?” He lowered himself slowly, keeping his legs bent, his arms and trapezoids pulsing softly with purple strands. “I’m sure yer not doing this for no reason.”

“Is giving our forces a boost of strength and flexibility not enough of a boon?” He asked. 

Most others would’ve tripped over his casual tone, wondered if Kleimann really was a simple individual. But Ranzal was allowing himself to show off his secret observant side. Noted. “You’re not one to care about strategy. You practically beg to go off every time you’re deployed.”

“Isn’t that what makes fighting fun?” This was a genuine question. 

“Not when yer—“ he grunted, pulling himself up again. “blowing people up left and right.” Was that fear in his voice? No, not fear. Kleimann recalibrated himself. What Ranzal felt was not fear of his powers—rather a simple lack of appreciation for the arts, a sense of disdain for his methods. 

“Well, I suppose I understand why you don’t resonate with me. You fight head on, with your very hands. In my view, we simply differ in our tools of choice.” Ranzal’s eyes squinted, as though he suspected Kleimann of something. But when he didn’t respond, Kleimann kept talking. “If you must know, I seek to publish my research.” 

Ranzal froze, mid-way down. He wasn’t twitching at all, perfectly stable even under such a difficult Fascinating. The way that he was suddenly glaring at Kleimann made his feet threaten to pitter with excitement. He really was a fine specimen. “You wouldn’t dare give up our—“

Kleimann waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “Oh no, no. There’s no need for me to be so frank about every aspect of my work. I’ll be removing all possible identifiers about this place, and Euden’s activities.” With that, Ranzal relaxed and resumed his workout.

A thought: would he kill him if he suspected him of betraying his Lord?

He hid his ridiculous strength well, but Kleimann had already seen him do more advanced calisthenics. The image of Ranzal flipping around and flying at him with murder in his eyes was an interesting notion. Yes, a loyal knight to the end, this one. The mage put the thought away. “I’ll be aiming for some accolades, and if this goes really well, some long-distance professorship opportunities. I’ll fight for our Lord in the day, and grade papers in the night.”

Ranzal made a face. “Who the fuck would wanna send shit to a rebellious castle?”

This man really had no appreciation for academia, did he? What a waste of a brain. He’d sooner develop new hunting techniques than pick up a book. “Those in my world are not as...” how should he put this? “...concerned with global politics. If there is knowledge, we will seek it out. That’s all.”

Ranzal did not seem satisfied. “You’re telling me yer some big wig?”

Kleimann let out a giggle. “Well, I do not mean to toot my own horn so easily, my boy—“ Ranzal rolled his eyes and looked away. “but you are in the presence of a recognized prodigy in the field of thaumaturgy!!” He could not help but beam. 

“Whatever.” 

Kleimann sat, reminiscing over the week’s events, making notes in the margins of his observations about Ranzal’s psychological and physical state while reviewing the mercenary’s journal to corroborate the data. He found three sources of pleasure in this work. First, he stoked the flames of his curiosity and need for academic rigor. Second, he was personally privy to eye candy (even if it was of the basest variety, personality-wise). Third, he was able to push and prod someone with the glorious nature of academic work, to show and elaborate on his accolades. Ranzal would probably never learn to like what he did, but he would know that Kleimann was a proud Summa Cum Laude of Silvergale’s 197th class. Then he’d know not to bother the mage with silly fraternization—at the very least he’d be mindful of days that those who were magically-inclined naturally watched for. 

He penned some of his recordings. Yes, this was going well. As obstinate (and, yes, entertaining) as Ranzal was, he was giving him good data, and helping Kleimann to prove, day by day, all the criticisms that he had levied against Michaelangelo’s disaster of an experiment. 

Everything was coming up daisies! Ah, how he loved his work. 

Kleimann’s soft smile grew lopsided. 

His left hand was using the quill to write and to turn the pages of his larger grimorie. His right hand was carefully combing through Ranzal’s self-reported observations for the last week. He was pleased, there was an overall positive trend with minor complaints. If his methods proved so successful—

...Kleimann’s quill stopped moving. He made sure to lift the ink off the paper before it blotted. Was this right? He squinted at Saturday’s, yesterday’s observations. He read the personal survey results: the highest rates of energy and satisfaction, the lowest scores for discomfort. And by the way these had been marked, the mage could read clear excitement in the mercenary’s hand. 

...was this ink?

—

The Windwyrm’s Gout was once again filled. The warm orange glows of the tavern’s lights made the chilly darkness of the outside even more striking, and its patrons made merry with one another in the warm bliss of the building, drinking ale and talking of their days. 

Behind the tavern, a man and a woman were grabbing at each other’s clothes. 

Ranzal came upon the bunny girl—his cute bunny girl, from a week prior—entirely by chance. She still had the beautiful honey-colored eyes and the rack that made his loins stir in his pants. “W-woah!!” He has been genuinely surprised. “Fancy seein’ you here again, doll!”

She had been surprised to see him too. “Oh my gosh, you’re that guy from last week!! Randal!” That stung. It did. But she immediately fell besides his arm, wrapped her hands around him, and with that the mercenary was able to ignore Joe’s snickers. He was, in fact, able to ignore Joe so well that the fletcher left the bar early, content with chasing around his stable boy. “Your friend's really hitting it off with Dane. You think they’ll go steady?”

Steady? Joe, with the way he held his lover’s bow with the tenderness one would hold a child, go steady? “Maybe, maybe not, doll. Now, come ‘ere...” He silenced her with a kiss, getting back to what he really cared about, and just to remind her of his sexual prowess, he lightly teased her ass cheeks with his hands. She moaned softly. They always did like men with callouses, didn’t they?

As it happened, the two didn’t reach her home before their desire reached a critical point and they had to take care of it. They ended up behind the tavern, unintentionally giving the owner a show as Ranzal bent down and ate out the Sylvan woman on top of a dumpster. It reminded him of his youth, and if she was fine with it—

She was shooting, squirting in his mouth with a mewl so soft that he couldn’t help but dig his nails into her soft dark thighs. He swallowed, moaning as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he drank of her sweet, sweet waters. 

In between gasps, she looked down at him. “I’m....holy shit...”

She was fine with it. 

With the girl panting and regaining herself, he shot the tavern owner a wink as he chuckled and went back inside. He was great like that, wouldn’t interrupt people who had been good to his establishment. Who knows? Maybe that would give him more reputation here. As he picked up his girl bridal-style, however, he dismissed those thoughts. He wasn’t an absent-minded doofus who needed to be corralled into bed. He was a stallion, a master of love-making. And that entailed his complete focus on his partner. 

Ranzal dug his fingers into her pussy as he kissed her. “Did you like that?”

“Oh, daddy—“ He was a simple man. If someone called him daddy, he’d take it, and he’d take it gladly. The way the word rolled off her needy tongue made his cock strain deliciously in his pants. “More~”

“I got you, baby. I got you.” He kept fingering her. And stepped forward. Her pussy tightened around his fingers, and he grinned down at her. “What’s wrong, babe? Don’t want me to take you home?” He kissed her nose. They loved it when he did that. 

She was blushing, her pussy was wet as a river, but her eyes had a spark of recognition in them—he bit back a snicker as she tried to protest against his masterful hand. “Y-You can’t just walk out of here—I can’t be seen—“She trailed off as he swirled his digits in her folds and, using his other hand, deftly played with her closest nipple.

He could fuck her right here, of course. Fill her with his spunk and then walk back into the tavern with her leaking his essence down her leg. She was the type who would love that, he knew from the way she’d grabbed him earlier. But he was already pushing it, and tavern owners might be kind, but there was a difference between a bar and a brothel. “Hmm, true, true...” He pretended to think about setting her down. He relished the way she clung to him, silently begged him not to take his fingers out of her. 

“Hey,” he said, grinning excitedly again. “Wanna see something cool?”

She blinked, thrown off. “W-what? Um, sure? But—“

He didn’t give her more time. Ranzal quickly moved one arm to sling his axe on his back, catching his girl before she fell out of his grasp. He then focused his power into his legs, and swiftly jumped up the walls of the alley, overtaking them and running atop the roofs of the buildings. 

“Where’d you say your house was again!?” He yelled. She gave him the shakiest of a pointed finger and then clung to him again with a yelp. He was off, running and jumping. She screamed, but he just laughed into the night’s wind. 

Ranzal was a strong man, built like a tree and swifter than he appeared. It was that speed, so unexpected from his body, that threw his enemies for a loop. Of course, there were many, many who were faster than him, and he would ordinarily not be able to pull off a feat like this unless he was in perfect condition. But after Kleimann had begun to experiment on him, he had seen his strength increase in a matter of days. His axe left behind larger craters when he smashed down, and his twisters sucked in more fiends. He was excited as he jumped around and landed with perfect grace. His girl was blown away, just amazed at how great he was, and he drank up her praise like liquor. Deep down, perhaps he had been feeling bad about insulting Kleimann, but really, this situation was perfect. He’d struck gold with this experiment thing. 

“H-H-How are you running so fast?!” The girl bit out as he trotted along to her house. 

A winning smile in the moonlight. “I’m just that good, doll.”

If she wasn’t his already, she sure was now. 

They barely reached her front door before they were snogging each other again like crazed teenagers. She moaned, begged, praised his every move as he pushed open her door. Clothes and his axe trailed and marked their path as they reached her bedroom, and by the time he threw her needy body into the mattress, he was nude, and his cock was stiff as a sword. 

He stood over her, surveying her messy locks, her supple breasts, her delicious chocolate skin, and her honey-colored eyes as she gasped and gaped at his rod. 

“You felt it the other day, didn’t you? Don’t act so shocked, baby.” But he loved the way she scrambled up to lavish kisses onto his thick dick. When she licked, a primal shudder tore through his back, and he almost forgot his name when her lips draped themselves around his tool. 

He let her work, looking up for a moment, gasping and shaking at the hot, wet pleasure of her tongue on his head. He looked down, saw that she was staring at him as she bobbed up and down, and flexed his stomach at the sight of those gorgeous ribbons of spit that flew out of her mouth. “Suck a bit tighter, baby. Don’t wanna waste a drop.” His ass clenched at her moan. 

Of course, he didn’t come so easy. 

Ranzal ended up taking control, softly massaging her jaw until it grew sufficiently slack. She was good. Real good. The thought of all the men that she must’ve fucked before him filled his head, and he was overcome by both a sudden spike of jealousy and the slow burn of desire in the pit of his stomach. The image of this girl, surrounded by all those cocks, her fingers digging into pubes of different colors as angry men fought for her attention, it nearly made Ranzal growl like a fiend as he fucked her throat so hard she gagged like a virgin. But she was in the throes of pleasure, and grabbed his ass cheeks for support. Big, weren’t they? More drool dribbled into his legs, and he didn’t think about anything for a bit as he made sure her throat knew him intimately. 

When he came into her mouth, she rolled her eyes back, and pushed herself to his bush. He felt it, the air moving around the hairs as she took a good whiff, and Ranzal’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he gave her a good meal. 

“Damn,” he breathed. His cock came out with a wet sound so obscene his woman blushed from embarrassment. But she let him rub his meat on her face. “You’re something else, baby doll.”

She was still trying to catch her breath. But she gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done. That she wanted more. Ranzal let his cock drop from her face as he climbed on top of the bed and licked her face before kissing her again. The taste of his cum , the smell of himself on her, made his cock twitch. He wasn’t a stranger to tasting himself, even if he was no longer as flexible as he had once been. And what man didn’t like to eat his own spunk once in a while? The familiar taste made him growl. She loved that, touched his back with the tenderest of touches. 

He moved to get a better position, and felt something wet at his knee. 

Looking down, he saw a large dark spot on her bedsheets. The mercenary put his hand on it, and smelled. He grinned at her with a lecherous energy. “You came? Already?”

“I...” she was embarrassed. Cute fuck. “I wanted to touch myself while I was sucking you off, and—“

He didn’t let her finish. Ranzal was once again at her folds, tasting, licking, sucking. She had a bit of hair down here, and the smell of her sweat drove him wild. Her moans were music to his ears, and he relished the pressure of her legs on the sides of his head. He roughly forced them open and teased her so good that she was reduced to babbling, near-incoherent strings of sound that all translated into a single plea. 

‘That’s not enough..!’

He sucked softly at her labia, enjoying himself on her texture. 

‘I need more..!’

The mercenary opened her folds, beheld the pink inside, and breathed on it. Her legs clamped around him, angry, and he laughed at her glare. 

“FUCK!!! Put it in, already!!”

Ranzal smirked at her, licking one of her knees. 

If she was insisting so strongly, then he had no choice but to comply, right? Wouldn’t it be a waste to make her wait more than she already had?

He put in his middle finger as far as it would go. She thrashed around in need, frustrated. “Not that!! I need your—“

His cock landed with a small thud on her stomach. Shiny with need, fully hard once again. 

She gaped wordlessly, but her pussy was suddenly leaking more, and Ranzal licked his lips. 

“Alright, baby doll.”

He put himself in her, slowly, slowly, holding fast to her pleas and her struggle and making sure she didn’t buck her way down his pole faster than he wanted. He reached right before his base, and began to pull out, slowly, slowly—

“Daddy—“

He rammed it in, pushing so far that their bushes flattened against each other. A guttural moan escaped her throat, and Ranzal set about his work. Hands at the sides of her head, supporting himself on the mattress and pillow beneath her, he flexed his body for her as he pounded her pretty little pussy into a sopping mess of desire and precum. Her cavern was so warm, so wet, his own drool returned, and he had to swallow it. 

Something told him she wouldn’t mind it if he let it rain down on her body. But no, he was too enthralled, and his hips set to work at a rhythm that drove her wild and had her singing praises into his ear. She clung to him in sweet desperation, wrapped her slender legs around his thick waist, and encouraged him. Called him daddy so much he just had to go faster to reward her, made him feel like a king on the earth. 

They lasted so long. 

Or rather, he did. 

His Sylvan beauty came a total of 10 times before he finally finished inside her, grinding his pelvis onto hers, filling her to the brim with cum so hot she whined in his ear and his leg flinched at the temperature when he did his favorite thing and lifted himself out of her with a plop. 

They were drenched in sweat, their hair was in joint disarray, and Ranzal’s back spotted some delicious scratches. As he rubbed her sore vagina, the mercenary licked at her ear, hearing her pant in sweet, sweet relief as she finally got to rest. 

She was sweet. Deliciously so. But he wished that she had been more brazen—she’d certainly bee the type at the bar, so it was surprising to Ranzal that he wasn’t covered with bites and scratches. No, just a few. Did he awaken some new fetish in her? He looked at her face. She was in a haze of pleasure and reached up to kiss him. 

Sweet, like a bride on her wedding day, on her honeymoon night. 

“Did you like that?” He said, his throat full of lust. 

“I did...” she mewled, soft like a warm ocean. “Almost makes me wish I hadn’t taken that Ghong Root.”

He chuckled lowly in her ear. She wanted his kids? Well, maybe she had more kink than he thought. But he moved down and licked at her folds, half to taste her, half to not have to show his expression to her. The idea of children was interesting to Ranzal, but it was also accompanied by nerves. “I gotta be at my Prince’s beck and call, doll. Can’t become a dad, yet.”

She moaned, and he made her orgasm just one more time with his tongue. 

She was so tired from that last one that she fell asleep. 

For a moment, Ranzal lay in her bed with her, watching her naked form. Her hand had almost fallen on his chest, but that would’ve been a little too close for comfort. Instead he had deftly moved it so that it rested on his stomach. There, not too intimate. 

She was a good girl, at the end of the day. Her hands were as hard as one could expect of a civilian's, but they did not have the distinct edge of those who knew the art of war. 

The contrast between her hands and his own woke him up completely. 

And as he rose, Ranzal huffed, felt the layers of sweat on his body, the need to clean his cock. And as the too-little and too-light scratches on his back throbbed, he wrapped the girl in her bedsheet, and walked out of her room, aware of how naked and exposed he was as he bent down and picked up all his clothes, one by one. 

He put them on in silence. 

And when he picked up his axe and slung it over his shoulder, he was resolved. Quickly, he walked out of her door, closed it, put on the latch, and made a show of flinging his axe around just to deter any possible brigands that might be around. He was tired, but he pulsed his power through his body. A sufficient warning. He wouldn’t need to get his axe actually dirty. 

The mercenary made his way back to the castle, not as fast as before, but still appreciably energetic. As he took a much-needed bath, he stared at his body, smirking. She’d loved it, hadn’t she? The memory of the girls tongue and hands all over him made him sigh in contentment, and he flexed to remember her wet face, her look of bliss as she sucked him off. 

Wasn’t there something that needed his muscles?

When Kleimann’s face popped into his face, he smirked. Yep, this whole experiment thing has its advantages. He climbed out of the small wooden tub, dried himself off, and remembered the small book hidden in his pants. It fit securely in his pocket, no way for any thrift to steal it. Using a small trick he’d learned in his early years of being a man for hire, the mercenary picked at his belt buckle, put energy into it, and watched it oxidize. Just a tad, enough to make it mark. 

Pleased with himself, he gave Kleimann’s little experiment a glowing assessment. If this was what he could expect from it, then the old coot wasn’t so bad after all!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Trigger Thoughts and a Lack of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it's homosexuality

Ranzal held Kleimann by the collar, his arms tensing and pulsing—oh god, they were pulsing now—with streaks of purple. He shook the man, enough to make his mask fall off just a little and look uneven on his face. “Ranzal, stop, my mask—“

“To hell with your goddamned mask!” He cried. “What the fuck am I supposed to do about this?!” He pointed to his dick, which was tenting furiously in his pants. It strained against the fabric, and made Ranzal’s knees shake and threaten to lock from unwanted desire. 

How had today turned into such fucking shit? 

Ranzal had woken early that Sunday, ready to meet Kleimann to keep his debt to the man. He was in a good mood, so good his workout had flown by and he was out on his business before he knew it. Kleimann had seemed impressed by his cheerful mood, but had said little. 

It had been one week since his bit of fun with that Sylvan girl. Word had spread around the tavern’s usual crowd that the Halidom’s famed axe mercenary had fucked a woman so good it had broken her bed frame on all four legs. Really, even he had to admit that was a fluke. He’d thought about it. That bed must’ve been old, not at all an impressive feat. But Ranzal was never one to turn down this kind of attention, as it also gave him many more opportunities to have good fun. Erik looked incredulous as they walked together, digesting stories of Ranzal’s recent escapades. “You’re adding something to your diet, aren’t you? Come on, you can tell me.”

Ranzal had simply shrugged. “Oh, ain’t from food, my guy. It’s all me.” 

Erik almost looked like he wanted to ask something else, if the direction his eyes went were any indication. But upon Ranzal’s own questions regarding his own sexual endeavors, the wild man sobered up. They’d been good, nothing terrible, but nothing that tugged at his heartstrings. 

Ranzal nodded in understanding. “As it should be, man.” He patted him on the back as they walked in the sunlight. “Relationships just weigh you down. You end up feelin’ sappy and you lose your edge,” the day Ranzal lost his edge was the day he’d stop being a man. They walked into a reputable leather store, and Ranzal set his axe down. “Trust me, it ain’t worth the trouble.” He said, trying to comfort his friend. Unlike him, Erik was a romantic down to his bones, and even though he was handsome enough to get his pick of tail like Ranzal, unlike the axe-man, he was unlucky in getting what he wanted. 

"Hmm.” He mumbled, seeming unconvinced. Erik leaned over the counter store and asked the shopkeeper (who was not present at the moment) about her store of leathers. They were on assignment on this fine Sunday morning, as they weren’t regular church attendees and could be counted on to fulfill small errands for Ramona and her fellow blacksmiths. “Do you have any tar paint? The fire-proof kind.” Joe, their dear fire-fletcher, had specifically requested it. The finish on his treasured bow was wearing out, and he entrusted his friends to procure the material necessary for its maintenance during his prayers. 

Ranzal turned to look at his fellow. Erik was checking out some leathers put on display, noting down what had been asked of them. “Honestly, I think you need to stop being so uptight with yourself.” He clapped him on the back. “Just chill. Love like that isn’t worth it. You’ll be all set if you could just,” how could he put this delicately, so as not to offend his friend? “...ease up on the reins a little bit.”

Erik hummed. Presented the list to Ranzal. Looked good. The other man went to lean on the counter. “Set like you? So I can fuck bunny girls in the ass all day?”

Ranzal snapped his fingers. “Aw, man! I should’ve done her from behind! Completely forgot.” He totally had. And if talk was to be believed, his bunny girl had left on a trip, so he wouldn’t be able to see her for a while. Erik rolled his eyes, and Ranzal couldn’t believe he was so dismissive of good pussy. Or maybe he was jealous? Well, if he’d been around, Ranzal would’ve invited him too. Tough luck. 

“You must be talking about Lou Anne.” The voice of the shopkeeper startled the men again. Was she that quick? She stood on the other side of the counter as if she had been there all along, but in her hands she held tar paint. “That girl’s always gotten into trouble 'round these parts. Heard she had some _fun_ last week.” She smiled. “You got yourselves a list? Give it here.” Erik gave her the paper, and she began to move. 

Ranzal looked at her as she put down the inks and paints that would dye their leathers, bending and stretching so she could get what they required. She had light skin, pretty auburn hair in a bun. Her breasts weren’t as large as his Sylvan beauty—as Lou Anne’s (Ranzal _totally_ hadn’t forgotten to ask her name. And besides, she’d forgotten his, too! Though ‘Daddy’ had more than sufficed)— but they had freckles, and Ranzal was a big fan immediately. As she placed different leathers on the counter, he grinned. Freckles on her arms too! If he was lucky, she’d have freckles in even prettier places.

Ranzal coughed into his hand, aware of his thoughts. “Well, what did ya hear about that?” He asked her. Trying to play it cool, because this woman was somewhat older and he tended to bow to older gals. 

“Oh, that there was a handsome man from the Prince’s Halidom who filled her up and left her snuggled up in her bed like a proper lady.” She leaned forward after organizing everything, smirking. She kissed her lips in the direction of Ranzal’s axe. “She said he made her see some pretty stars.”

Ranzal’s casual smile twitched, before losing all pretense and becoming flirtatious. Younger women were pretty and excitable, but old cougars knew how to run him around their fingers. Age made the fruit all the sweeter. “Inside or outside her house?” He asked, his voice a low rumble. 

She giggled, interpreting his words differently (then again, he _had_ eaten out Lou Anne behind the dumpsters, so it wasn’t too far off). “Oh, you saucy minx!” And they laughed at her choice of words, with Ranzal choosing to ignore how Erik gave him a look. If the man dared to call him a ‘minx’ after this, he’d give him what-for. As the huntsman shrugged off Ranzal’s cautionary glance, the good lady began to write up their total. 

If Erik wanted to be that way, fine.

Ranzal put the leathers, tars, and paints in his sack. He winked to Erik, then leaned over and put his moves on groove. “So, what’s a pretty lady like you working on such a fine Sunday morning? Not a churchgoer?”

“I go sometimes.” She shrugged with the casual air of someone who was fine only attending holiday services. An air Ranzal knew very well. “And you boys?” She gave Erik bedroom eyes. 

The other man blinked, blushing slightly. “S-sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t.”

“Well, Illia’s blessed me today, I reckon.” _Reckon?_ Oh, this gal was sending all the right chills up Ranzal’s spine. She opened the door to her counter, stepped out (he could see her ass through the fabric of her skirt), and locked the door to her shop. “Why don’t I give you two a bit of extra service? As a thank you,” she turned around, removing her shirt with practiced ease, letting it hang from her skirt as she exposed her shoulders and breasts. “for protecting us and helping us prosper.”

Ranzal grinned over to Erik, who looked at the woman for a few moments before letting his belt fall to the ground. Coy bastard was already hard!

Well, the mercenary wouldn’t have trouble matching that. He stepped forward, unbuckled his pants, and let this cougar of a shopkeep take it off herself. The two men shuddered when she dropped to her knees and licked at their heads, pressing them together. 

Ranzal felt Erik’s hand on his ass, and with that, he stopped thinking. He let the shopkeeper work, and whispered his plans on double-teaming her fat ass to his fellow, who nodded in agreement and began to moan under her touch. 

That had been morning. 

In midday he’d been alone, grabbing some lunch, when he’d heard whispers. Two girls were looking at him from their table, and when they’d noticed him giving them a smile, they blushed and looked down. It took them another 10 minutes to gather up the courage to talk to him, tell him they’d seen him at The Windwyrm’s Gout often, and if he might fancy a walk with them. 

“Sure thing, ladies.” He offered. With his arms around them, their walk ended quickly at their shared apartment, and Ranzal had some fun with them too. That lasted until the afternoon. 

And at night?

Brothel. Enough said. 

Sunday had been a good day. A very good day, ending a week full of similar merry-making and adventures under the orders of his Prince.

Monday?

Not at all. 

It had started normally—as normal as things went now that he was experimenting with Kleimann. He did normal exercises, lifted some weights and made sure that his pectorals squeezed in just the right way so that he knew he was making himself stronger and not weaker. He was pleased as he felt the surge of Kleimann’s mana mixing with his own, calling out the shadow in his heart. 

“I noticed you were supremely satisfied last Saturday.” He mentioned in the middle of their program. “Your survey results were tip-top. Have been for the past few days.” The little book was floating next to his head, leafing slowly through the pages as he glanced at it.

Ranzal nodded as he clenched his abdominal muscles and sat up, making sure his knees didn’t bend too much. “Just feel great. I think this experiment of yours is working.” 

Kleimann cocked his head. “Oh? What happened?”

The mercenary considered not telling Kleimann about his adventures. Considered telling him to screw off, that it wasn’t his business. But he did owe his impressive feats on Saturday (and on Sunday) somewhat to this work. With a sly grin, the mercenary began to remember. “So, I met up with the girl again.”

“The girl?” Kleimann paused. “...from where, again?” 

Oh, of _course_ he didn’t care about that. “From the bar. The one I took you to.” Kleimann’s mouth dropped slightly to let him know he’d use a different verb. Which was fine, he could have his opinion on things. “She was the Sylvan with the purple hair.” Lou-Anne. Nice name. 

“Ah.” He pointed with his quill. “Yes. The one you were fondling.” He snickered, and Ranzal shot him a look. “Continue, continue.”

He flexed his muscles as he talked, smile returning. “Just had more fun with her on Saturday. Left me in a good mood.” Ranzal lowered himself slowly, making sure his push-ups had perfect form. “I showed off a little and jumped around with her on my back.”

“...with your wind magic, or...?”

Ranzal turned. Kleimann was leaning forward, no longer writing in his book. Ranzal blinked but did not slow his rhythm. “I pumped out some shadow, like I do here. It really gave me a boost. Just used it to flip around some buildings and impress her.” He said it casually, because it was somewhat casual at the end of the day. He’d done some fancy acrobatics, and then after that he’d fucked her good. While his new shadow magic only affected his muscles, it had helped lead him to a _very_ fun situation. 

So perhaps Kleimann the bastard witch deserved a bit of positive attention, as thanks. 

“What?” He asked, cocking a brow, perfectly genial. “You jealous, old man?”

Kleimann stopped giving him that weird expression. “ _Hardly_. She’s not my type.”

“ _You_ have a type?” Woah, that was news. “I would’ve thought you had no sex drive.” He ignored how Kleimann scowled at him. “Come on, whaddaya like?” He egged him on as he raised himself, finished with his pushups. Was this a bro moment about to bloom? Was this where Kleimann stopped being a pompous asshole and actually—

The mage then put his hand on his chest. Or rather, his fingers, in a delicate pose. “My mistress is science, my muse is the soul, my—“

Ranzal ‘pah’d and waved his hand to shut him up. Kleimann giggled, back to his usual mirth. Things then resumed their usual rhythm with no issue...

But the day had just begun. 

His assignment this Monday had him exploring a cave to the east of the Halidom with a few teammates. Fiends had popped up, of course. And, like always, their battle instincts kicked in and they began to dispatch them. The cave was filled with topaz, which Cleo shot at regularly, making their color dull. “The fiends are feeding off the electrical energy in the stones! No wonder the miners can’t do anything here anymore!” 

Electricity meant Light, a form of luminescence. And that made Ranzal’s fingers flex as he grinned wildly. His muscles tensed, bunched up under his shirt as he gripped his axe tighter. “ _Got it_.” And with a wild flurry, the mercenary whipped around and tightened his stomach. 

“Lets kick some ass!!” His axe, which had been spreading waves of grass-colored light before, now pulsed with purple flakes, and the flesh of the fiends began to tear that much more easily under his blade. It was pure satisfaction, without the gross wetness associated with water fiends. Ranzal relished it, and felt the power pulse through his veins. He threw his head back as he noticed deadly eyes glinting from farther in. “Neferia!!”

The bow mistress gracefully danced behind him as she readied her bow and shot. The arrows gracefully flew across the cave’s ceiling, dulling the color of the charged topaz as they flew, before striking 3 fiends in their vital areas and dispatching them. “The way is clear, Ranzal.” Her voice was silky smooth in his ear. “Show me what you can do.”

“Hey, no fair!” Called out Ifran, charging up behind them. He dashed forward and spun, knives cleanly splitting the throat of a fiend that had lost its footing. He landed next to Ranzal, and his many purses jingled with the sound of his coins. It was almost a pretty sound when it came from his pockets. “You don’t get to hog all the glory just cuz you got Kleimann to power you up!”

The four of them dashed forward, dispatching fiends as they went. With his body pulsing with shadow, Ranzal was able to read the movements of the fiends better, even in the darker areas. Were his eyes acclimating faster? The thought got him so excited that he dug his axe into the ground and tore it out forward, sending purple rocks flying and pelting a large yellow ogre in the face. It fell on a deposit of topaz and groaned. 

Neferia shot it in the eye and it died with a violent twitch. She whipped around, readying another arrow. “Perhaps it would behoove you to ask the warlock for some assistance, if you’re so interested in power.” She offered. Her thin arrow cleanly strung itself through the space between Ifran’s neck and his light hair, and struck a fiend which had been poised to dig its claws into him. 

He turned, noticed the fiend, and balked before springing back into action. “Thanks!” He plunged his knives into two fiends with clubs before pushing them back. “But no thanks. That guy’s a creep!”

“But you want power, no?” She asked. Her body pulsed in the runes of her ancient homeland as she focused the shadows around her with her magic. 

“Not enough to spend time alone with _that_ guy.” Ifran said. He picked up a knife off the ground. “He’d have to win some bet against me or something.” 

Ranzal turned around, his axe half-way in a mushroom’s cap. “Don’t think I don’t hear you talking, pretty boy!” The mercenary twisted, finished the job.

“Sorry, sorry!” The miser laughed. 

Neferia jumped back from a fiend’s deadly strike and hit it in the stomach with the pointed tip of her bow. It buckled under the strain, and she released her arrows at it’s back. A makeshift porcupine, the last fiend in this area. She tossed her ebony hair back in place. “How _did_ you come about with this arrangement, Ranzal?” The ancient princess wasn’t one to drink, not in places like bars anyways. Rumor had it that she held rich wines in her private chambers, though only a select few had ever tasted them. 

Select few, huh? That was coy enough to be cute. 

But the embarrassment of that night was still fresh in his heart. The mercenary shook his shoulders to clean off the fiend goop, and adopted a relaxed tone. “S’like he says. Lost a bet.” 

Ifran had snuck up behind him. He smiled gleefully, like a child with gossip. “Because he—“

“Shut up, idiot!” Ranzal suddenly whipped around and put him in a headlock, rubbing the top of the man’s head hard with his fist. He dutifully ignored his protests. 

Cleo spun around, sending balls of shadow around her before she dashed to recover some loot on the ground left by a fiend she’d purified. She walked back to the other three, relaxed.“I think you should probably ease up, Ranzal.” A small smile graced her lips. “He’s choking a little."

Ranzal grinned wide. He really didn’t need these two ladies to know what he’d been up to that night. What he had with these women was a strictly professional friendship, one he had come to treasure with time. Of course, they weren’t prudes, but that wasn’t an excuse to be _so_ open with them. These girls weren’t Vanessa, who rode bulls and dick with equal ferocity, and could easily speak about them with the same breath. “Oh, he’s fine! He’s just a big dumb blabbermouth, ain’t he?!” He put on a genial face, smooth and friendly enough to fool the best con man, but his arm’s pressure reminded Ifran that it would be best if he kept his mammonist mouth shut. “And you can heal him if yer really worried.”

Cleo giggled. “I’m afraid I can’t cure a lack of judgment.”

Ifran broke free, shock on his face. “Are you calling me dumb?!”

Cleo looked to the side, still smiling. “I said nothing so brazen.”

Ranzal and Neferia laughed, ignoring Ifran’s protests as they entered a chamber that pulsed with threat. This was where the monster that housed the largest collection of malice was sleeping. With it gone, the mine would be purified for a while. 

Their laughter hushed as a sudden bloodlust washed over them.

When the two women cast lights, the monster revealed itself to have the shape of an ox, with horns that crackled with thunder, and fur that stuck out, as though electrocuted. It would definitely try to electrocute _them_ if they weren’t careful. 

It’s red eyes widened when it saw them, and at its roar, the four adventurers split up to attack. 

Neferia’s arrows quickly found their mark in its eyes, and the beast howled as it was blinded. Thunder rolled off its body in uneven waves as it struggled in momentary agony before recollecting itself. Fiends acted like animals, and they produced physical materials such as meat, bone, and fur. But it had been established long ago that they held no nervous system, no brain. The pain they showed was purely performative, and their demeanor would quickly calm after a few seconds. Such was why they were feared. There was no life in them, no sense of equal respect one would get from hunting regular beasts. Just fear and anger. Fiends were simply efficient killing machines. 

But then again, so were _they_. 

Ifran jumped up onto some ledges and dispatched a few straggling fiends along the way. He threw his knives, sent his power through them, and attracted the attention of the large bison fiend, who chased him around—until he jumped out of the way and was replaced by Ranzal’s axe, which lodged itself square in the space between its horns. 

So goddamned hard…! The mercenary groaned--and gasped silently as thunder rolled through his muscles and tore at his frame. For a moment, his fingers were like jelly, and he was afraid he’d drop his axe.

But Ranzal bared his teeth, grinned wildly as he pushed back against the huge foe before him. His shoes dug into the ground a little before they were secured by the earth, and he pushed his power into his axe. Green light pulsed in the fiend’s head, and it stood its ground. 

Neferia and Ifran shot their weapons, and Cleo stood behind Ranzal, healing his body from the electricity passing through it and filling him with strength. “Don’t push it. If you need to jump away, we can—“

“I can do this.” He groaned through his teeth, gripping his axe tighter. Cleo wordlessly complied, sending more power through him. 

Green light pulsed again and again, but that wasn’t what Ranzal was after. Where was the power he’d gotten from Kleimann? It was there inside him, surely it was. All he needed to do was find it again. “Come on..” he whispered. Remember, remember the feeling of those weird things on your body, of that old man’s power coursing through your veins…

“Come _on…!”_

...He thought of Kleimann’s rhythmic quill strokes. He remembered the way he sat in his chair, the way he sometimes hummed with the large rock that recorded his vitals. He remembered his scowl at the bar, his wild grin at his success, his giddiness whenever Ranzal did something that he liked. He remembered the way he’d pushed his wand into his throat, the first day in his lab, back when Ranzal had pushed him into the wall. How he’d insulted him, how he’d mocked him, how he grabbed his dick and made him feel weak at the knees—

“ _Come on!!”_

With a growl, Ranzal noticed that the light coming from his axe was rapidly being overtaken by purple. 

The familiar feeling had returned. 

He opened his smiling mouth, took in air, pushed forward. _Forwards!_ The bison fiend was reacting poorly to this change in elemental affinity, for its knees buckled and it groaned. Ranzal took one step forward, and seven arrows lodged themselves into the fiend’s back, weakening it further. “I ain’t losin’ here to a _thing_ like this…!”

The fiend roared. It was giving one last hurrah. “We can win this!!” Cleo called out, and shot a laser with her wand at the feet of the fiend, making it lose its balance further. Ifran dug his knife into a vital spot at its side, and Neferia shot more arrows, this time _drenched_ in shadow power. 

Those red eyes flared right at Ranzal with the hate all fiends were made of. 

And he pushed—

The fiend’s head was split in two by a large pulse of purple form his axe. The body grew weak,then, and Neferia’s arrows ripped through its flesh. Ifran spun through its flank with flecks of light trailing at his wake. 

A bloodcurdling noise tore from it’s throat.

And just like that, it was dead.

Ranzal fell onto his knees, gasping for breath, his axe clanging on the stone. All of them stopped where they were and fought to collect themselves. This thing had been _hard._ Ranzal was now completely aware of how badly his muscles ached, how they throbbed and felt hot from electrocution. Cleo, with her impressive hardiness, quickly brought herself to his side, and he sighed in relief at her healing touch. It wove through him, spread through his skin like a blanket before seeping into his muscles, and calmed his nerves and stomach. He sighed, and the sweat on his brow felt cool. “Fuck, man…”

“We did it.” She announced. 

“Heck yeah, we did!” Ifran walked towards them, slightly off in his step. He was dizzy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fiend with a hide that tough. Ramona’s gonna cry when she sees these pelts!” He lifted his arm, then dropped it. “I’ll...I’ll totally...totally skin this dude, just gimme a sec…”

“I’ve expended all the arrows in my quill.” Neferia announced. “One less, and I fear Ranzal would’ve been run over.”

The axe-man shot her a grin. “Hey, now! I never lose!” His eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of Cleo’s magic. 

She smiled behind her hand. “Cocky as always, I—oh...!“

She didn’t finish her sentence. 

Ranzal opened his eyes. “Neferia?”

“Erm, my apologies. I just…” 

...What was happening?

Why was this woman from the desert, always so mysterious and regal, now blushing like a young maiden on her first date? Even Lou Anne hadn’t been so shy when he’d had fun with her. 

“Ranzal,” Cleo coughed with a too-professional tone into her hands. Her healing did not stop, but it felt...felt less nice.

“What?” He turned back to her. She was also pinking up—

His pants were tight. 

Ranzal felt mortification fill his body as his eyes fixed themselves forward. He would not look anywhere else but the carcass of the fiend—not even slightly to the right, at Ifran’s wide eyes. But he could feel it clearly. He didn’t need to look down to see that his cock was hard as the stones beneath their feet. 

The pause lasted only a moment. Only a thought. 

He stood up, faster than thunder and straight as an arrow, then dashed away from Cleo and pulled out a knife from his back pocket. “T-the pelt!! Y-y-ya wanna see how I s-skin these fiends, Ifran?” He dove into working at the animal, mind desperately trying to focus on the musculature and remember his many years of experience with fiend-skinning. But it was no use. He did not twitch, but his face was hot and his dick was still _not going down—_

“Ranzal, you’re holding that knife like a little kid.” Ifran was at his side, pushing the knife back into a proper hold. He then turned, and using a voice that had netted him many favors and coins in his life, reassured the flustered women “Don't you two worry! This is simply a male problem!”

Ranzal wanted nothing more than to strangle the pretty man right then and there, but he was so frozen with shock and mortification that he could only listen to his words. 

Neferia spoke. “A...a male problem?”

“Sure!!” Ifran said, so cheerful that it felt fake. “Sometimes in the middle of a fight, you get so worked up you just...” he shrugged. “ _pop a woody!”_ Ranzal longed for the sweet release of death. “It happens sometimes. It’ll go away in a bit.”

“Is...is that true?” The pure, innocent doubt in Neferia’s voice added to the indignity.

“It is.” Cleo spoke up. She was at Ranzal’s back again, her magic healing his remaining wounds. That made his arms move on autopilot, and the two men worked while Cleo spoke in a very clinical and reliable tone. “At times, the adrenaline of combat causes blood flow to hasten to the point of reactions such as these. It’s a simple sign of the rush of battle, as it were.” Her detached voice made it easier on Ranzal, who relaxed a little. “It’s not uncommon for male soldiers on the battlefield to report such occurrences.”

Neferia calmed down enough to approach (though Ranzal saw out of the corner of his eye that she deliberately kept from looking at _him_ ). She sounded bewildered. “Goodness, I had no idea! Being a male sounds like it has its own share of troubles.” Then she did look at him. Smiled a genuine, rueful smile. She was embarrassed—at herself. “Forgive me, Ranzal. I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable in such a way.”

Ranzal’s shoulders grew slack. He tried again for a winning grin. “No worries, doll.” Neferia’s cheeks darkened at the words, Cleo hit his head lightly with her wand, and all was good in the world once more. Everything was fine. His body would soon calm down…

...except that it didn’t. 

Neferia and Cleo helped to collect the materials from the fiend, and Ranzal walked ahead, quickly readjusting himself so that his dick was somewhat less conspicuous in its rigidity. Ifran walked beside him. “I thought you had fun last week? And with that shopkeeper?”

Ranzal’s cheeks flared. Erik was a dead man. “I’m gonna punch you.”

But even punching Ifran wouldn’t make him feel less horrid. Nor would it make this thing go down. He knew, somehow, that this was something other than a simple battle hard-on. His breathing was turning slightly ragged, and the heat on his face didn’t leave even with a good breeze. And so he made it back to the Halidom, playing down his predicament, with his dick hard and needy in his pants. It stayed up, with the head held by the band of his trousers, so that when he turned to say a quick goodbye to Neferia and Cleo, he didn’t have a stiff tent of fabric pointing at them. But in his rush to get to the nearest staircase and descend to the basement, the man’s cock loosened itself from its position and formed a visible, bobbing mass. 

He was lucky no one was at the stairs, because his dick bounced as he descended, and his mortification grew all the more with each movement. 

Kleimann’s door couldn’t come fast enough, and when he swung it open, precum had begun to leak. 

Kleimann whipped up from his desk. “Who’s—“ he put down his wand, the crystal’s light dying, withdrawing from what looked like a heart. Confusion draped his voice. “Ranzal?—“

“Oh my God, man. Holy _fuck!_ ” Ranzal entered without being invited and closed and _locked_ the door. He stopped regulating his breathing, and felt his tongue grow hot. “Somethings wrong, Kleimann.”

The wizard quickly brought up the illumination in the room. “Calm down, boy. Collect yourself, and tell me what’s wrong.” He offered him a chair. 

Oh, but even the sight of Kleimann’s weird, gross jar things, even the sight of a wet heart on his desk, wasn’t making Ranzal any less horny. 

Oh _no._

He was absolutely aroused. Completely erect and leaking and needing to plow. Oh no. Oh, God. 

He rushed to the man, nearly pushing into the desk. “Today—I was hunting fiends, today, right? On an assignment.” The mage looked like he didn’t know whether to agree or let Ranzal continue. “And I, I pushed out some shadow, cuz the fiend’s were electric—“

Kleimann stopped him, confused. “What do you mean you pushed it out? That’s impossible.” His terrible personality took over, and his voice took on a dismissive tone. Ranzal grew incensed as the man began to explain away his problem without even listening. “You are not at a level of adaptability where you’d be able to perform feats of combat with this new element I’ve awakened in you. There must have been something else—“

“Shut up!!” A wave of heat made Ranzal’s arms move forward, and he clasped at Kleimann’s collar. “It’s your fault!! It’s this stupid experiment!!” He began to shake the mage, furiously, desperately. 

And that’s how he ended up where he was now. 

With Kleimann’s mask slightly off-center on his face, revealing nothing but looking weird. 

With his cock throbbing angrily in his pants as he fought the urge to strip and touch his aching tool.

Ranzal’s breathing was heavy. “ _What_ is happening to me, Kleimann?” 

The mage had his wand at his neck. Pulsing. Defensive. Just like last time. 

It sent rivulets of pleasure down Ranzal’s body, and his knees began to shake. But by the way Kleimann quickly flicked it away, it seemed like he hadn’t meant to do that. “Alright.” The mage said, readjusting his mask. “Take off your trousers. I have to examine you.” Ranzal complied only because he was freaked out.

When the air hit his dick, he _shuddered._ He quickly sat back down on the chair and ignored how his cock stood up very straight, like a flag.

Kleimann sat in front of Ranzal. Eye-level with his dick. _Eye-level, with his dick._ “...you were fighting, and you pushed out the shadow element on your own?”

Ranzal nodded. He was feeling just slightly calmer, calm enough to keep sitting. His balls felt delightful as they moved against his legs and the wood of the chair. No. _Focus..!_ “I, I wanted to get it over with quickly, and I did it…” He breathed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kleimann’s wand again. Pulsing a wide purple light at him. “I...I can do it in short bursts.”

The mage before him quickly called for his book, opened it and scanned the pages. Ranzal hadn’t bothered to write anything but the barest of essentials for the man’s report. What did he see in his stupid survey? “That—I had predicted you would be able to perform such a feat after the first month. This is—“ excitement creeped into his voice. “this is _fascinating!”_ His smile betrayed his emotions. “We might have just discovered something incredible about the resonance of carnal matter and—“

_“Kleimann…!”_ He growled low, needy, desperate. 

The mage coughed. “Of course, of course. Back to this problem.” He bent down. Looked at Ranzal’s cock, which made the larger man blush. “...you may have an aptitude for this kind of resonance work…” He looked up, then. Peered in close to Ranzal’s eyes. The blue diamonds of his mask seemed to glow softly, and Ranzal felt naked, even though he was somewhat clothed. “...but no.” Maybe the glow was his imagination.“Too outlandish of a hypothesis right off the bat.”

Ranzal grew exasperated. Every second made him more desperate to cum. “Then _what_ is it?!”

Kleimann thought for a moment as he looked Ranzal over. Then he looked at Ranzal’s pants. “Take out your log book for me.” Ranzal blinked, did as he was told, tried to ignore how wonderful it felt when his dick bent with him and rubbed against his armor. He handed the book to Kleimann, blushing madly at the blob of precum that was forming on his head. “Thank you.” He said, and swiped at Ranzal’s tip. 

The axe-man trembled in his chair from the contact. “W-What are you—“

“I’m examining this…” Kleimann’s mask _was_ glowing, a bright electric blue as he spread the precum on his gloved fingers and made the book float as it opened to a specific page. “...you…” he turned to Ranzal again, mask glowing. It was ominous in this ro, surrounded by fiend body parts in jars that were lit similar colors. “...what did you do this past week?”

“What?”

“Last Saturday and Sunday.” Kleimann continued. “You said you had been out, had fun with a girl. Showed her your skills…”

Ranzal nodded, confused. “I pushed mana into my legs and ran super fast to her cottage. I felt like I was stronger, and it made me happy. That’s why I gave such high scores that day.” He explained. “What does that have to do with—“

“And then the week afterwards? Sunday?” Kleimann pressed. He couldn’t help it, and some of his morbid interest for which he was known had crept into his voice. He wasn’t angry at all. Just interested. Ranzal tried to ignore it as best he could. “What did you do on our Lord and Lady’s Day?” The religious reference just made it sting all the more.

“I…” Ranzal reddened further. “That’s none of your—“

“You had sex. Again.” Kleimann mused. “Am I wrong?” When Ranzal was silent, he continued. “What did you do?”

Ranzal, pushing down his embarrassment, told him everything. 

Kleimann put his fingers under his mask, presumably to hold his nose bridge. “And this brothel you went to. How many times did you enjoy yourself to completion?”

Ranzal sheepishly remembered. He put one leg over the other, to try and stifle his dick, but at the memory of that night’s fun, it leaked again. “...I think 7 times?”

Kleimann’s mouth opened just a tad. 

Ranzal’s back stiffened with indignation. “I—I have a lot of stamina, ok?!” He was feeling hot all over, and his dick hadn’t died down at all since this noon. “What’s so damned funny, huh?!”

Kleimann’s surprised mouth was hidden behind his hand as he chuckled in his chair. His laughter grew louder and louder as it morphed into his usual giggles. “Oh...oh my goodness, that’s a good one..!!” He shook his head, still laughing as he bent over slightly. “Oh, oh Ranzal, you’re a complete _buffoon!!”_

Ranzal’s fists trembled on his knees. But the mage gave a high-pitched giggle, and hit the desk a couple of times. “M-my apologies..! I, I just can’t believe myself!” He fought to calm down, and pushed his hands together—

Before flicking Ranzal’s sensitive dick, snickering madly. 

“Agh!! What the fuck?!” The man groaned as he covered himself. His cock _throbbed_. “What’d you do that for, you maniac?!”

“My dear, idiot boy. You’ve brought this on yourself!” He said, hands splayed. “You have used your powers recklessly, played around with forces not yet completely under your control!” He drew a sketch of Ranzal’s body in the air, pointing to certain areas. “When you exercise with me, you’re thinking about your muscles, and therefore you’re channeling the shadow element into you in the form of endorphins and testosterone. It is the same as when you fight. Same principle, same concept, same reaction. But!!” He then pointed to the drawing’s nether region. “You’ve _also_ been playing around with this for sex!”

Ranzal shook his head. “I have _not_! I wasn’t even thinking about you when I—“

He actually _had_ been thinking about Kleimann. About this experiment. About how his energy had been sky high even with hot pussy around his dick. 

And memories of this room were a good trigger for his powers.

The realization that Lou Anne’s bed wasn’t actually made with shit materials made him quiet.

Kleimann shook his head as if to say ‘of course’. “You were channeling your power to impress a girl you wanted to fuck. You have had copious amounts of sex the past few days—and knowing you, I bet you flirt with your comrades during your missions.” The mage leaned forward. “I’ve seen you do it. You even attempted to court my dear, sweet Sinoa one time, didn’t you?” He pouted his lips, then snickered. “That was a hoot, I’ll tell you that.”

During the first week Kleimann had been around, there had been a mission that had taken him, Ranzal, and a few others exploring. He’d tried his luck with Sinoa back then, sure he was being smooth as silk… 

Sinoa’s too-kind rejection had been the subject of his friends’ jokes for a good month.

Kleimann kept talking. “Now your neurological pathways have formed a somewhat common association between sex, fighting, and magic power. It explains your increase in both combat strength and fertility.”

“I...My body’s reacting like this because of my mana?” Ranzal didn’t know what to feel, other than strange. His dick pulsed, but he didn’t want it to. Even if it felt so, _so good_ that it did. 

“Well, not completely. If your entire mana pool was directing itself towards your genitals, you’d probably suffer a stroke.” He said that like it wasn’t the most horrifying thing Ranzal had ever heard. “But…” And Kleimann grabbed Ranzal’s balls. 

Ranzal wished he had the strength to pull away.

Kleimann, for his part, was gentle as he held his testicles in his hand, looking at his whole tool with his glowing mask. “...Ranzal, my boy. You have magic buildup in your—“

“Oh my _God.”_ Ranzal didn’t let him finish. He held his face in his hands. This was it! This was the end. “I’m not gonna be able to function like this. I can’t help Euden now. It’s over….” The thought of struggling with this constantly, of not being able to control himself any longer—what would Euden think? Elissane? Luca? Cleo? The thought of being out of commission indefinitely because of _a hard-on_ was a blow to his pride like nothing else. His dick was supposed to please himself and others, not interfere with his duties. 

Kleimann let him stew in his suffering for a moment longer before he coughed. “You’re so uneducated it _hurts_ me.” The mage tapped his dick again, ignoring how Ranzal yelped. “Well, I suppose it’s not the most _common_ knowledge. I can forgive this. You need not worry. This priapism is hardly fatal.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

Ranzal didn’t know what facial expression he was making. “...what are you talking about?”

“You’re not going to _die_ , you buffoon. So stop moping. All you have is a simple buildup of mana in your tesitcles.” He didn’t seem to care that the idea was absolutely _insane_ to Ranzal, or that he really hadn’t wanted him to say it out loud. “It’s natural. You’ve made a habit, and thus your nervous system has wired itself to support it. We should be able to rewire your pathways back to a normal modus operandi within a month.”

No more stupid boners? No more embarrassed teammates?

Ranzal smiled, laughed a little, because of the sudden relief. “Fuck...fuck, thank fucking goodness!” Kleimann’s mouth twitched. Was he amusing? Whatever. He didn’t care. Ranzal just comforted himself in the fact that this would be over within a month. “What do we have to do?” He asked. 

“Oh, that’s simple!” The mage declared. “You just need to expel the surplus mana.” Ok. Sure. Kleimann made a gesture with his hand, and smiled. 

Ranzal blinked, then barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding!” Then, suspicion crowded in his mind. Kleimann was known for being an eccentric. Suddenly, the thought that this might be all some elaborate ruse to embarrass Ranzal--that there was no experiment, that Kleimann was just enjoying getting back at him for what happened at the bar--it seemed possible.

Who else was enjoying this? The room seemed quiet, but...

He narrowed his eyes, his voice dry of mirth. “You’re not fucking with me right now, are you?” If anyone was here having a laugh, they’d regret seeing him get pissed off.

The mage stopped smiling as well. “Ranzal, I’m getting tired of you assuming I dabble in lies. They’re absolutely detrimental to my practice, and they’re so roundabout. I refuse to keep track of them.” Kleimann swiped his head again, harder, and Ranzal hissed. “I can see it—even in this drop of pre-ejaculate fluid, I can see shadow mana from _your_ body.” He flicked the liquid off his gloves, opened his mouth, but then closed it for a moment, as if thinking of something else to say. “It’s a simple matter of ejaculating it out of your system.”

Ranzal looked down at his throbbing dick. It glistened and pulsed with need. This wasn’t fake at all. He nodded, and turned around. “Ok, so I just have to push it out…” He sighed, and grabbed his dick. Then he turned around, and coughed.

Kleimann respectfully turned and went back to his desk, poking at the heart.

Fucking weirdo.

But Ranzal was now digesting everything Kleimann had said to him. It helped him relax. Really, he was glad--though he would’ve appreciated this information before. Ranzal wasn’t as knowledgeable about mana as other people. Who was he to know that magic could store itself inside his dick? But that didn’t matter anymore. He knew now, and he would be able to deal with this problem easily.

When he began to stroke himself, he shuddered in pleasure. His thick cock was hot to the touch, and so sensitive. He slowly moved his hand up and down, feeling the familiar skin, biting his lip at the way his foreskin caught slightly on his head. Fuck, it was dry. He spat in his hand and kneaded his head. That made his legs twitch, and he sucked in a breath.

A purple light at the corner of his eye made him stop.

Kleimann was now quickly pulling up a chair in front of Ranzal, and sat himself down. 

The two men looked at one another before the mage cocked his head. “Oh don’t mind me. You can keep going.”  
  


“Like hell I’m gonna jack off in front of you!” Ranzal complained. His dick throbbed, but he focused on glaring at Kleimann. Was this bastard trying to make fun of him? “What happened to my privacy?!”  
  
  


Kleimann shook his head. “Oh, I never gave you privacy. I was just preserving my specimen and looking for my grimoire.” He held up the thick book. “This is valuable data for me. I can’t just _not_ record it.” 

Ranzal’s cheeks blazed, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose as his cock leaked onto the floor. “Of course you’d say that…” He took a deep breath, then another. “Alright. But _you_ ain’t talking. No bullshit quips or jokes, got it?” He was very serious. If Kleimann dared to make fun of him like this, he’d regret it.

Kleimann smiled, as though he not only sensed the threat, but was doubtful Ranzal could even carry it out. But to his credit, the mage nodded. “I won’t say anything disparaging.”

“Fuckin’ right, you won’t…”

After a moment, he continued.

But the feeling was different now that he knew Kleimann was taking literal notes as he watched him masturbate. He scowled. His dick was so damned dry, even with his precum.

Kleimann summoned a deep dish, making it float towards Ranzal. “Would you care for lubricant?”

“Why do you--” Ranzal shook his head.Everyone had urges. Of course Kleimann masturbated at his desk. Surely he had no one to suck his grubby dick. “Never mind. It don’t matter.”

But Kleimann took that as an opportunity to show off how much he knew about chemistry. “It’s not hard to whip up. All you need is water--”  
  
  


“I _said_ it don’t _matter_ , old man!” He swiped the dish from the air, making some lubricant spill onto his hand. It didn’t tingle, didn’t burn, and after a smell check, Ranzal determined it was safe to use. Just in case, though, he squinted his eyes at Kleimann as he dipped his fingers into the decorated bowl, and applied the gooey substance to his dick. “This better not fuck me up.”

Kleimann’s mouth, for a single moment, twisted into a scowl. Then he looked playfully offended, somehow. “Ranzal, even _I_ wouldn’t--well…” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t do that to _you.”_

If this was anyone else--anyone else--Ranzal would think them to be kind. But there was something in the way Kleimann’s mask glinted, in the way his lips were upturned, that suggested that he pitied the mercenary too much to trick him.

Ranzal stroked himself and huffed a hot breath. He hated pity.

He was a powerful man, willing and able to fight the toughest enemies, tear apart the worst monsters, dance with the most beautiful women and take the sweetest of trophies. His dick was large, his muscles were too, and he had a face that could make both men and women turn pink with shy desire. He was renowned for his skill, beloved by his people, trusted by his Prince. He quickly dismissed an image of Euden’s face as he continued to pleasure himself. That wouldn’t do at all...

The point was that Ranzal had no need for anyone’s pity.

Certainly not from Kleimann. 

He closed his eyes, imagined his Sylvan beauty, his darling Lou Anne. Well, she was hardly _his_ darling. They hadn’t known each other for long. But bedding such a sweet girl every day wouldn’t be a bad way to spend his life. And even if she ended up with someone else, there were others. Plenty of others. There was Louise, who came to the Halidom to protect her brother. She was always kind, very pretty, and knew her way around her arrows. Though he liked to maintain a certain professionalism with Nefaria, he wouldn’t turn her down if she ever came to him in the middle of the night. Who would say no to such a beauty like her? Celliera was tough and strong. She could step on him and he _certainly_ wouldn’t mind it. God, there were so many beautiful women in the Halidom.

And men too. Seeing Erik move with the shopkeeper, seeing the sweat run off his brow as his stomach rolled with his hips, that had been a sight. Thaniel, though he was always so straight-laced, struck Ranzal as the type to like being ordered around in bed (wouldn’t that be fun?) And guys like Hawk? Fuck, he’d give anything to be between his sculpted cheeks. Or to see him dominate a lucky lady.

All these thoughts swirled around his mind, and he bit his lip, eyes still closed. He had almost completely forgotten about Kleimann. Where his presence had annoyed him before, Ranzal’s inner kinks were making it interesting. Alright, if a lonely, perverted old man wanted to watch him jack off, he could. And he’d give him such a show for it. Would that change their relationship? Would Kleimann stop being such an insufferable prick if he saw him come?

Would he be embarrassed? Was he feeling embarrassed _right now_?

Ranzal opened his eyes a little. 

Kleimann was dutifully writing notes, fully concentrated. Ranzal’s nonsensical fantasy stopped being that interesting then and there. Being in a sexy mood did that to him, made him think ridiculous things. Of course Kleimann wouldn’t be shy about seeing Ranzal ejaculate. He was a specimen to the man, nothing more.

The thought irked him. But that was it, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that why _nobody_ really liked Kleimann? 

He scowled, saw himself in his mind’s eye, cock dripping from orgasm, quickly pulling up his pants and leaving Kleimann to clean up his mess. Would that be rude? Oh, absolutely. But that was what this bastard deserved. Maybe _that_ would put him in his place, make him reconsider the way he treated others. Perhaps he’d realize that making someone be a guinea pig for inviting him out to drink was a shit thing to do.

All he needed to do was cum.

That was all.

His breath hitched, his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as heat coursed through his veins. Any moment now. He was close. So fucking close….!

….

“...fuck.”

“Need more lubricant?” Kleimann asked.

“No--no I’m fine.” The lubricant was good, long-lasting, but that didn’t matter right now. He squeezed his shaft, tugged lightly at his balls, even kneaded his head with his palm in that way that drove him wild. He reacted accordingly, hissed and twitched and felt the pleasure pulse through him like an angry wave. 

But it didn’t end. It didn’t reach the peak. “Somethin’s wrong…” He groaned as his hand slowed down. 

Kleimann leaned forward. “You’re having trouble orgasming?” Ranzal nodded, flicking his hand. The lube no longer felt fun, just dirty. Yet his cock throbbed and begged him for release. This sucked, to choke like this right before the peak. The mage put his hands together in thought for a moment, then stood up. “Do me a favor and stand up, please.”

Ranzal made a questioning noise, but did as he was told. “Why?”

Kleimann waved his wand, purple light streaking from the crystal at the tip. “Perhaps you need some assistance. If you’re not ejaculating by yourself, a prostate massage might help you.”

Ranzal couldn’t help the noise that rose from his throat. “What?!”

“I’m not joking, Ranzal. You need to get the excess mana out of your system.” Then he grinned. “...Oh, I see.”

“What?”

The mage seemed giddy, which Ranzal took as a bad sign. “You’ve never been pleasured that way, have you?” He giggled softly as Ranzal stiffened. “It’s nothing to be afraid of, boy. Proper preparation can make anal sex enjoyable.”

“I _know_ how anal works, douche.” Ranzal growled.

“Of course you do!” Kleimann said. He waved his wand again, and the stone floor rose next to him, shaping itself to become something weird. It was a slab, with the lowest point to his waist. It almost looked like an angled map station on a ship, but it was too long and not wide enough; two slabs of stone jutted out from the ends of it, making an L-shape. “But you seem to require assistance in receiving it.”

“I don’t need nothin’ from--” Ranzal blinked when he realized this was an impromptu chair he was supposed to sit on. Like something for prostate exams for when men got too rickety. He bristled. “Why the fuck’d you make it look like something in a medic’s office? You callin’ me old?!” He wasn’t old. Ranzal was in the _prime_ of his life, and he’d never get off it. 

“Hardly. You’re obviously my junior by a good decade.” Kleimann said. “All I’m trying to do is make you assume a comfortable position. Unless you’d rather bend over my desk?” The two men turned to the desk, and Kleimann quickly flicked his wand and made the heart store itself in a jar before the container moved away back to its spot. “I swear it’s clean.”

“The hell it is! And I never said yes to you pokin’ around my ass!” Ranzal protested. “I don’t need that shit!”

Kleimann looked at him for a moment, as though sizing him up, then stretched out his hands in a shrug. “Well, you can do as you please, boy. Carry on like that if you want.” He turned around. “But if you don’t get this mana out of your body, it may have consequences for you.”

“I can just go to a brothel in town. Easy.” He huffed as he picked up his pants and tried to stuff his raging member inside. He’d relax with some beautiful women, pound them silly, and--

“Oh, I can’t let you do that in your state.” Kleimann peeked over his shoulder before turning around. The door was already locked, but it glowed purple as Kleimann flicked his wand. “Your semen was tinted with shadow mana before. But now you’re having issues ejaculating, and you’ve been stimulating yourself to no avail.” Kleimann took a couple steps forward and pointed his wand at Ranzal’s dick. The mercenary flinched and moved his head back. “What do you think happens when mana gets stimulated inside a living container?”

Ranzal looked down at Kleimann’s mask, at the electric blue jewels that looked like six unnatural eyes. “...you know I don’t know.”

“Precisely. You _do not_ know.” The mage nodded. “If you go to town and find some civilians to bed in your state, you will give them mana poisoning.” When Kleimann’s wand glowed, Ranzal felt his dick pulse, and he gasped in pleasure. “Ranzal, for the past two weeks I’ve tried to inform you about the finer points of this research, yet you’ve ignored me.” He sounded genuinely displeased. “You would understand the delicate state your body is in if you actually paid attention to me and my ‘ramblings’.” 

“You--” Ranzal gasped again, and fought the urge to jack off with Kleimann this close. He bit his lip and huffed. “You never say anything.”

“Oh, don’t I? Or could it be that you always _ignore_ me when I try to talk to you?”

Ranzal stayed quiet.

He searched for something to say, but found nothing. And then he remembered. Bits and pieces from the past few days, of Kleimann mentioning something or other about faculty and research inspiration and biology. But Ranzal hadn’t been of any mind to pay attention. Focusing on his work out and making sure his form was proper took some mental power, but he had also been deliberately tuning Kleimann out. Because he was annoying, because he liked to brag about his stupid university, because he liked to make Ranzal feel like an idiot.

“...”

The wand pulsed again, and Ranzal grabbed Kleimann’s shoulders with a gasp of hot air. “ _Stop_ doing that..!” His knees felt so weak, it was unbearable.

The wizard looked right up at him with zero fear. “Then stop behaving like a child and get on the bench.”

Ranzal could only do as he was told. He shimmied out of his pants, climbed up onto the stone, and put his feet at the braces, opening his legs and feeling the cool air of Kleimann’s study work its way onto his taint and cheeks. His dick throbbed at the sensation of cool air on his pubic hair, and he squirmed. He felt vulnerable like this.

Kleimann stood before him, looking at him as he dressed his fingers in lubricant and made his hand glow purple. “I’ll start massaging your anal cavity to work my way up to your prostate. Understood?”

Ranzal blushed and ground his teeth as Kleimann’s fingers touched his hole. “Just do it, man.”

“Hmmm.”

He pushed--and Ranzal took in a breath. Fuck, fuck he was pushing in so much! “You’re in too deep!”

Kleimann cocked his head. “Boy, I’ve barely worked your hole open.” He snickered softly. “You really haven’t ever done this, have you?”

“...I like to be on top.” He mumbled.

“Here I thought you’d be a guru of the mattress.” Kleimann said. “Relax. Take deep breaths. I’ll tell you how I’m progressing.” And he pressed his finger to his hole again. Ranzal did as he was told. Breathing in and out. “Focus on my mana, like how we do in the mornings. _Relax_.” At his words, Ranzal felt power course through him, around his nether-regions, spilling across the back of his legs and up his coccyx. “Focus on me, boy.”

Ranzal’s breaths grew shaky as he felt something begin to actually probe inside him. “I have my pinky finger inside, halfway.”

That was the pinky finger?! “Fucking, hell…” He groaned.

Things continued that way for a little while, with Kleimann slowly pushing his fingers in, going up in thickness until he was able to get to his index finger. Ranzal had resorted to touching himself to distract his senses, and the pleasure did help to dull the pain, but not completely. He let out a whine when Kleimann began to do something weird, and look down. The man looked up at him, smirking, amused. “I’m simply loosening you up.”

“H-How…” He curled up a little and his cock throbbed when that weird shifting feeling happened again. “Oh, fuck…” He took a moment to look at the base of Kleimann’s hand, going a little deeper into him, and he began to gasp hot air. His mouth was wet with sudden drool, and he swallowed.

“Just making a scissoring motion with my fingers. Nothing special, Ranzal.” At the mention of his name, the mercenary felt warmth spool out from his ass to all around his legs and cock. Kleimann either didn’t notice or didn’t make it seem like he did.

But the way he was smiling to himself told Ranzal that he wasn’t suffering from having to do this at all.

“Fucking pervert witch…” He grumbled.

At that, Kleimann stuck his fingers in a bit farther than before, with more reach than before, and Ranzal arched his back as his hands flew to the sides of the bench and clenched hard. “ _What_ was that?” The sudden low threat in Kleimann’s high voice made Ranzal feel something he couldn’t describe, and his cock leaked profusely.

“I--” There it was again. He arched, and mewled.

This was so fucking embarrassing. 

Kleimann whistled as he worked. “I could make you faint very easily, my boy. If you would rather keep yourself awake, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

“...Did, did you reach my…” He took in a shaky breath.

“I did touch your prostate yes.” Kleimann said, his tone quickly regaining its usual chirp. The mage’s cocky smile made Ranzal blush as he grabbed his dick and began to pump again. “You can keep stimulating yourself, or you can let me finish the job.”  
  
  


The mercenary wanted to kick his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

The mage’s smile turned sly. “Well, we’re already here, aren’t we? There’s no point being obstinate. And besides, it’s easier if you let go.” He leaned in just a little closer. “A good researcher takes care of his subjects.”

With those words, Kleimann resumed touching Ranzal. Resumed massaging his spot. And Ranzal almost did let go of his cock. This feeling was so fucking strange. He had only ever done this twice, with a woman and a man, in different stages of his life. Both had been atrocious failures, and Ranzal had sworn his ass to be off limits. But the way Kleimann was moving his fingers--did those two idiots simply not know what they were doing?

...Was Kleimann good at sex?  
  
The thought, the mere consideration, was too much.

So Ranzal became stubborn again. He didn’t leave it up to Kleimann. He kept moving his hand, kept squeezing his cock, scowled at the way that Kleimann seemed to judge him for it. The two men were as silent as they could be (Ranzal, sadly, seemed to have lost control over his throat) as they worked, and when Ranzal came, it felt like a wave had crashed into him. Like that bison fiend from earlier today had thrown him against the wall with its considerable weight.

He moaned as he let ropes of cum shoot out of his dick, a low, primal sound at the base of his throat.

And he sat on that bench, panting, recovering his breath with his eyes closed. 

“Good job.” Kleimann said. “This seems to be...seven milliliters?” 

Ranzal opened his eyes. Kleimann stood in front of him, in between his legs like before. But a ball of white floated next to him, tinged with mana. “Well, that fight with those fiends riled you up, didn’t it?” Kleimann quipped. 

Before cumming, Ranzal would’ve pummeled him. Now, he simply glared. “Holy fuck…” He breathed out, regaining himself. Once he had his bearings, he examined the white thing again. “...Is that my cum?”

“I’ll have to examine your semen further, to make sure everything is in order with your body.” The liquid stored itself in a vial, which floated to the desk. “You’re sweating a lot, by the way.” The mage handed him a towel, which he used to wipe his face, before going to the desk and pulling out a quill to label the vial. 

“...” Ranzal would have probably not fucked Lou Anne if he had listened to Kleimann’s explanations. Probably. Perhaps the mage would’ve made them overly-complicated. Yet, the pressure at his dick was somewhat gone. He had to acknowledge that. “...Thanks.”

Kleimann turned around, his mouth displaying his surprise. “Oh my. I was not aware that you had the capacity to be so civil, Ranzal. “He sauntered up to where he had been standing before. Right between Ranzal’s legs. Ugh. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Don’t push it, you bastard. This is your fault too.” Ranzal watched as Kleimann looked confused. “You said I had made myself like this because I made some link with sex and magic, or whatever.” He looked at Kleimann directly at his face. “But you fucked with me when I said I wasn’t going to help you with your research.”

It took the mage a moment, but the memory registered. “Oh, yes. That.” Kleimann said, flatly. “As I recall, you acted violently towards me and pushed me into the wall. Right over there.” He pointed to an area that Ranzal recognized easily. “But I hadn’t begun experimenting on you yet. There’s no correlation.” He said dismissively.

“Like hell there ain’t.” He growled.

“There _really_ isn’t, boy.” Kleimann said again, this time a little pointed.

“Well, felt fucking awful, what you did to me then.” Ranzal persisted.

“I could say the same.” Kleimann stood his ground, and leaned forward just a tad. His mask’s eyes twinkled ever so slightly.

Ranzal readied himself for anything, and his hackles raised.

But then, Kleimann leaned back and coughed into his hand. “But I suppose that I also lacked civility, then. There were multiple ways I could’ve made you disengage without being so inappropriate.” He didn’t say anything about Ranzal fondling anyone, or about how he was a pervert or a drunk. “I apologize for that.”

Ranzal couldn’t believe his ears. Kleimann apologizing for anything was unheard of.

He turned his eyes to the side as the silence grew uncomfortable. “W-well, good.” He jumped off the bench and went to pick up his pants. “I’ll be more careful with my mana from now on.”

“You should certainly be, yes.” Kleimann said. But the sound of a hand tapping rock made Ranzal turn. He was still there, standing at the bench. “Where are you going?”

Ranzal’s belt slipped a little bit out of his fingers. “Ain’t we done?”

Kleimann shook his head, incredulous. “Oh, no! Not at all. Your mana levels are still way too high, Ranzal.” As though he’d chanted some spell, given some signal, Ranzal’s dick began to harden again after he said those words. “You’re still overloaded. I carried some mana out of you, then, but there’s still more to go.”

The mercenary dropped his things. “That’s bullcrap!” But then his dick throbbed, and his hot cheeks made him reconsider his words. Just how much mana did his balls have?

Kleimann giggled, pouring himself a cup. “I have some teas that can help you if you feel prematurely spent. This shouldn’t take too long, now that we’ve got a good method for detoxing your body.”

Ranzal made his way back to the bench and stared at Kleimann as he got back on. “...How many more times do I gotta shoot?”

“Well, it’s a rough estimate,” he said lowly as his hand grasped Ranzal’s dick, squeezing and making the mercenary twitch in begrudging delight. “but based around the amount of mana present in that volume of semen, I would say...two or three more times?”

It ended up being five. Five whole times of Kleimann touching Ranzal, working him good, and then carrying him over the edge with surgical precision.

By the time it was over, Ranzal’s cock ached, and his ass was drenched in lube. After the second orgasm, Kleimann had taken to sitting at his desk, and used his wand to make a small sex toy penetrate Ranzal in lieu of his fingers. Apparently, he had other work to do, and was a master at multitasking. Ranzal didn’t need to take any of Kleimann’s weird sex tea (fucking hell, the man has sex tea), but a cup of normal brew was sitting beside him. He slowly made his way off the bench, and walked to Kleimann to sit in a regular chair.

“Are you going to pay to have my chair cleaned?” Kleimann asked.

Ranzal remembered he wasn’t wearing any pants. “Fuck.”

But then the mage snickered. “It’s no trouble. I can clean it myself. The material reacts well to mana.” He poured both of them another cup. “How do you feel?”

“I…” He took a sip. It was good, needed after all that exertion. “I feel like I just bought out a brothel and introduced myself to all the ladies as their new boss…” 

Kleimann hummed. “Would you ever do that?”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No. Unless they wanted to be my research subjects.” The jars of gizzards and hearts behind him made the statement take on a strange sort of ambiguity.

Post-orgasms, things felt a little odd. Like some of the curtain of their pretenses had fallen away. Perhaps that was why Ranzal wasn’t feeling shy about Kleimann having a full view of his bush and dick anymore. Maybe he was too tired to care (though this tea was quickly remedying that). But he supposed this was good. He had come a total of six times in front of Kleimann. The man had his fingers up his ass! What else could he have to feel embarrassed about? 

It irked him slightly that this stage had been reached with Kleimann of all people, but it didn’t matter. The mage had apologized to him for feeling him up and fucking with him. That was a feat he hadn’t even thought possible to achieve. At least, that was something. 

He didn’t like Kleimann at all, and he didn’t care for him either. But the man had said sorry to him.

And Ranzal had thanked him too.

...Was this respect? No. Nothing so unearned. He still knew Kleimann was a slimeball. But being around him, right now, wasn’t a chore to slog through. It was bearable. Doable. 

Gross. “So, anyways.” He said, speaking to push all thoughts out of his head. “About the mana in my... balls.” Kleimann nodded as he wrote. “Is it over with?” He had made the mistake of assuming things were over with before. Not with Kleimann, not with this. This time, he wanted to make sure.

“Well, I’ll have to monitor your condition as we continue to work together…” The mage said, poking his quill onto his lip and licking the ink that spilled there. “...but no. As I said before, rerouting your neurological associations will take around a month. During this time, you will probably experience this type of phenomenon again.”

Ranzal breathed through his nose. “Am I gonna have to deal with bullshit in the battlefield?”

“There’s a possibility. But our teammates are professionals. They should know what it’s like to fight.” Cleo’s words about how soldiers used to experience random bouts of arousal on the warpath came to him again. Yeah, things would be fine. “But I do suppose I can inscribe runes upon you to manage the flow of your excess mana during the day. At the very least, your phallus shouldn’t rise until I remove them.”

“You mean like, blocking my hard-ons?”

“Precisely.”

“Why can’t I do that, instead of what we just did?” His hole twitched, as though Kleimann was once again fingering him. As though that toy was once again moving around inside. His eyes moved and spotted it, clean and put away in a box out in the open. His cheeks colored slightly. It had felt...good. But if there were alternatives, he’d want to know.

“Runes are useful for many things. They are like instructions the world must follow. But we are not gods. We cannot abuse them. If I were to just block your mana-fuelled arousals and never take that off, the buildup would increase exponentially very quickly. While I said that your situation was not lethal, such a backlog would not be healthy in the slightest.” The mage put his quill away, apparently finished. “You should be able to manage yourself during the day. But at night, we’ll have to continue this routine.”

“...So I have to get dildo-fucked by you for a month?”

“You have a way with words, you know that?” Kleimann sighed, annoyed.

Ranzal groaned as he reached for the pants and belt that Kleimann had magicked over to him. As he worked them on, he thought. He knew little about runes, but from what he did understand, there weren’t many restrictions over placement. Most likely, no one would ever see them. If anyone asked, he would just say it was for Kleimann’s research, which was technically the truth. And besides, even if that sounded interesting to people, he doubted they would come to Kleimann’s study anyway. Sure, Ranzal currently did not hate his guts, but that didn’t mean all his relationships with everyone else had suddenly improved. 

It seemed doable. Fight for Euden and do his work during the day, then have Kleimann release his mana at night. His hole twitched again, and his face felt slightly hot. “Well...it don’t sound horrible,” Ranzal said as he tightened his belt. “You sure it’ll be ok?”

“I have good confidence. You’re not a neophyte learning how to fight for himself. This method should work for you as we nudge your neurological pathways.” Kleimann said. 

He took another sip. “What about having sex?”

“ _Ranzal_.”

“I’m serious! I want to know if I’m gonna be able to have fun like I usually do.” He signed up (against his will) to be a research subject to Kleimann. He didn’t sign up to have his life interrupted.

A cheeky smile. “Didn’t we just have a good amount of fun together?” He giggled as Ranzal glared. Right back to wishing he could sock his face. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to cut down on having sex, certainly. It’s hard, but you’ll have to bear with it for the month.” When Ranzal made to protest, Kleimann shook his head. “See, I don’t see what the problem is. You aren’t being celibate, as I’ll be handling your orgasms.”

“That’s kind of a problem, man.” He grumbled. “You ain’t exactly my type.”

“ _You_ have a type?” Kleimann asked, grinning. 

Ranzal swore at Kleimann, told him he could go fuck himself, and left the stupid mage. No dirty floor, no silent treatment, hole fully worked. Not at all like he'd planned.

Dinner was uneventful. Euden seemed to be making his way to ask Ranzal about his health, but new recruits demanded the Prince’s attention, and Ranzal gave him a nod to tell him he was fine. Cleo seemed to watch him intently, and they talked together about the day. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks…” He tore into his meat.

After getting to his room, dressing down for the night, he climbed into bed. Ready to dream, ready to sleep.

His hand reached around his soft cock and felt his hole. 

Ranzal pursed his lips in the darkness, watching the slab of moonlight on his ceiling. He couldn’t lie and say that this area of himself wasn’t interesting. Kleimann had worked him so easily, even though he hadn’t had any real experience before. Ranzal wasn’t an asshole. If a man liked getting fucked, he was still a man. But he had always prided himself on how he managed his dick, how his tool was his greatest asset, how he didn’t need anything else to make someone beg for him to make them his.

And yet, even so, Kleimann had done it well.

Ranzal doubted even the most seasoned of prostitutes could match his skill.

...As he felt his hole, still slightly slick with Kleimann’s lube, he shuddered slightly, and put in a finger. He grunted at the feeling of insertion, of his own digit inside his body, and closed his eyes.

Kleimann’s stupid face, with the beard, the mask, and the cheeky smile, popped into his head. He was fingering Ranzal and was poking at his cock with his wand. It was drenched in his precum. He moved up to Ranzal’s ear, whispering as he massaged his prostate, tracing his shaft with the tip of his wand and making his cock bounce in need. ‘ _You really haven’t ever done this, have you?’_

Ranzal took his finger out of his hole, smacked his mattress, and went to sleep angry. 

  
  



	5. Interest and Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being able to update after a couple of months of being too busy is such a good feeling.  
> Also, we agree that we stan Lowen

Kleimann took pride in his work.

He had been a student of magic from a relatively early age, graduated summa cum laude from one of the most prestigious and coveted institutions of magecraft on the continent, and was known in many circles as a genius in his own right. His reputation preceded him, and his impression lingered in the minds of those who wished to work with him—either to inspire them onto a lifelong path of academic rigor, or to reveal their inconsistencies and deep-seated defects. His work had taken him into multiple realms of thaumaturgic thought, and he had dug his way out of the proverbial pit and climbed the trees to look at the stars. He was by all accounts a braggart because he had earned the right to be so, and he carried himself well because he knew exactly what he was worth.

As such, he was responsible enough to know when to forego the formalities associated with magical research.

Two white candles lay before him. Unlit, without wicks to catch flame. The wizard moved to one of his bookshelves, chuckling at the noises coming from his jars and giving one particularly rambunctious set of eyes a tilt of his head. “Evening, my pretties.” They stopped moving at his words. A less experienced mage would probably wet their pants at the sight of his research lab. Sinoa, when she had first visited, had been beside herself with mortification. Poor girl hadn’t really delved into this corner of magecraft before. But Kleimann had been glad to help her break in the shoes of a serious researcher—and before formally falling into the embrace of an academic institution, no less! The girl pretended to not care for his formalities, but he knew interest when he saw it.

Too bad she couldn’t see this fun little trick. She’d have to matriculate and learn the true ins and outs of magic society like everyone else. At the very least she should be happy. Their good little Prince would surely finance her education, put her in an envious position.

And in his world, being envied was a form of strength.

Reaching past a jar of steelbeak gizzards, his fingers brushed up against wood. Pulsing power through his body, he flooded the carved runes with mana and silently felt his way through the metaphysical lock. Out of tradition, he whispered the anthem of his dear Alma Mater, and the wood receded to reveal a secret compartment.

“There you two are.” A clink of glass, and he grabbed at the two small jars before pulling his arm out of the bookcase. Black as ever, they glinted with the soft bioluminescence of the fungal species that were stored around, and Kleimann held them in his hands for a moment, hearing the wood place itself back into formation.

He turned, saw the pupils of the eyes shrink and lock onto his hand, watching it intently as it neared their jar, went past it, and reached for the hippogriff ears instead. Hippogriffs were no fiends, and so their dead body parts did not twitch and react to stimuli when placed in this preserving fluid. He felt the scars on the back of his palms, underneath his gloves, as he walked with the jar back to his desk. The creatures were as deadly as they were beautiful, and they always put up a bloody fight. He respected that. One could always count on a hippogriff to give a fine display of a living creature’s zest for life.

And to honor those feeling, he gingerly plucked one ear out of the jar, handling it with care.

He traced his gaze over the vascularization of the ear flap, reading the pattern and matching it with the corresponding astrological signs that dominated this area of the world for the month and week. As expected, the spell would have a great success rate without much further encouragement from his mortal end. Opening one of his desk’s top drawers, he drew lazy-looking circles with his wand until he could feel the shape he needed through the mana. A box of onyx needles emerged, as well as a white mortar and pestle. Genuine marble, a graduation gift from a professor who was long dead and dearly revered.

“You were quite the fighter.” He murmured as he prepared what he needed, using his wand to make jars float around his head in a steady procession. He shut the world out, focused on fine control, sharpened and refined his ethereal hands. 40 milligrams of limestone flake, 5 milligrams of moonstone powder, 777 milliliters of honeydew drop, 90 milliliters of river water. “Gave me quite the scare, you know. I thought you were going to bite my fingers clean off.” It had been a tense moment, one where he had had to use physical rather than magical strength to get out with only gashes. 7 milligrams of iron. But he had been ok, in the end. After all (23 milligrams of fine amber dust), he was competent.

“Gave me quite the rush.” He said gleefully as he stabbed one needle into the ear flap.

This was the fun part. With one quarter of his mana, he would charge the needles as he inserted them. With a second quarter, he would focus on mixing all his ingredients in his mortar, controlling the pestle with a precision worthy of being called beautiful. And with the remaining half of his attention, he would talk to the ear, make small talk while drawing the appropriate runes to encode the tar he was making.

He relished the pull of multitasking.

“You animals are a curious thing.” Another needle, right below the first. Mix, mix, mix. Add the dry ingredients first, with half of the river water. The first runes, for his heart and his lips. “On the one hand, you are simple-minded, incapable of understanding the grandeur of intelligent existence...” Add the rest of the river water and three drops of honeydew. Mix, mix, mix. The second runes, for the river and the air. “But on the other hand, many a philosopher has called you wise, for you are in balance with nature. And with even less effort than a Sylvan!” A wonder, was it not? Finish adding the honeydew, but hold off on the amber dust. The third runes, for—

A microscopic pause.

Then, extending himself further, he pulled out another jar. Shadowwyrm scale, finely ground. Only 3 milligrams of this. “Oh, look at me, I was so focused on talking to you that I almost forgot!” It wasn’t a necessary ingredient. In fact, it would make the following emulsification of the paste more difficult. A couple more layers to tie together. But it was what the people on the other end of the line deserved. And, in a way, it was his way to show off.

“They say a mage who works with dragonscale is quick to die, but—” he addressed the ear as he put in two more needles near the base, adding the dragonscale and amber dust together. “—that’s because they reach the Root.” Mix, mix, mix. The third and fourth rune sets for black ribbon and deep waters. “See, you get it, don’t you?” Another needle into the ear. It began to vibrate with the power pulsing through it. Mix, mix. “Your simple kind is, in a sense, already there. It’s not worth it to live long if one’s simply going to dawdle and atrophy.” He turned his head to scoff, making sure not to get any spittle particles into the mortar. His friends, masters of reading the ingredients of spells, would certainly _not_ appreciate his personal materials. They’d accuse him of flirtation, and the conversation would get hilariously derailed. No time for that. “Life is about the meaning at the center, after all.”

And of course, the ear did not respond.

It was a bad habit, he supposed, to talk to his materials. Even more so when they were from normal animals, not fiend parts who still operated with vestigial curses and reacted to his stimuli (as though the fiend could hear and hate him from beyond the grave). But one had to accept sooner or later that working in a magician’s lab entailed a certain degree of volunteered solitude, and while others liked to focus with some sort of unconscious meditation, Kleimann found that philosophy far too boring. Why not have a little chat? Practice his enunciation? Sing operas to gizzards and lungs who were not allowed to resist his charm?

See, Kleimann loved to make fun of himself. Too bad the ear hadn’t been around long enough for it. Next time, when he’d be feeling less wistful and more eccentric.

A final rune, to seal the promise.

And he let the ear, now coursing with his power, float up in the air. “Be a dear and help _our_ meeting, then, would you?” The ear said nothing as it cracked and folded in on itself, turning into red sludge with the needles, and falling into the mortar.

“Right, then.”

Silently, Kleimann stirred three times counter-clockwise. The glow subsided, and he waited for the mixture to cool down somewhat. Not too much, of course, or else it would be too hard to use. Then he’d had to reheat it and reapply the runic encoding—a fun mistake, but a mistake for a rookie.

He moved to set the two wickless candles on their stands at the center of his laboratory. They rested on iron bars, etched with complicated runes. Heavy things, these candle bars were. He had almost pulled a muscle moving them out.

The mage called for the mortar, and when it floated to his side, he scooped up half of the mixture and coated one of the candles completely with it. The other candle got the same treatment, and only minimal residue remained. He set it back on his desk; he would clean it later. Uncorking his black jars, Kleimann pulled out a strand of hair from each. One white, one black.

The strands, upon contact with the blackened candles, straighted up and became hard enough to be pushed into the wick holes.

He paced a circle around the two candle sticks, silently etching runes into the ground with his wand. A perfect circle, perfectly paced, perfectly formulated.

He sat down on a chair, licked his finger tip, and then flicked it out. Two drops of saliva split from his digit and flew to the hair strands, catching on them and lighting them in black flames.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When the fire of the white strand turned to a vibrant purple, he grinned. “Thank you for picking up.”

The voice from within the flame echoed outwards into the world as the metal bar underneath pulsed and spread its glow to the runes that Kleimann had sketched. Their connection had been established and secured. _“Why do you call me, Kleimann?”_

The mage leaned back, enjoying his colleague’s exasperated tone. “Oh? You sound as if you wish I hadn’t, Heinwald.”

 _“I do wish you hadn’t_.” He said, always direct. _“I find your hobbies distasteful.”_

Just as he had always known him. The blonde wizard laughed. “If I’m not mistaken, you were the most enthusiastic out of all of us to receive your Candlesticks from our Headmaster.” He pouted even though he knew that Heinwald could not see him. “I’m not _bothering_ you, am I?”

“ _You’ve interrupted breakfast. I wanted to enjoy this jam recipe in peace.”_

“Aww, and the dragonscale?”

 _“It does_ not _endear me to you any further. In fact, I may just throw the whole meal away.”_ He loved it when Heinwald liked to pretend he was more humble than he actually was. He relished the certain knowledge that the man was surely flattered by his usage of such a prime material.

“Oh, but my friend, wasting food is a sin! How insensitive of you.” He criticized.

The sound of a saltshaker. “I use sin to spice my eggs.”

“Good source of vitamin C, I hear.” Good joke, good joke. Kleimann chuckled to himself, flicked his wand, and his tea set appeared next to him. Another flick, and preserved fruits landed on a small plate. “You will not mind if I join you, of course?”

A sigh. _“If you’re sufficiently lonely in that castle of yours, then sure.”_

Kleimann smiled as he poured himself a cup. “It’s not _my_ castle, you know.” He let the drink steam, and yawned. “I’m just a simple warmage, now.”

_“Lot of good your time in school did you.”_

He put his hand on his forehead, threw his head back. “Oh, the wrong turns I’ve made!”

They ate together for a moment. Together, far apart, as was the respectful thing to do for men in their position. And for a moment, Kleimann could see the past. Their young selves, eating in the forest, ready to gather materials and kill anyone who stood in their way. Always moving through lair after lair to finish assignments, always reporting back to that central hub of higher knowledge, their wands at the ready. Always sucking up slugs and slices of meat while they scribbled down notes on their parchment.

Always seeking to undermine any and all authority for his ambition.

All good things must come to an end, they say.

Not _him_ , of course. Just the proverbial ‘they’.

After Kleimann enjoyed himself a little with his provisions, he moved his mask out of his face and massaged the bridge of his nose. Sighing, he let his face breathe. Heinwald’s candle flickered with the sound of cutlery being put away. “ _Another sleepless night?”_

“Sleep is for the weak.”

_“And the sane.”_

Kleimann smirked. “I talked to my samples when I was preparing the communication tar. Just like you told me to!” He chirped cheerfully.

 _“Defamation of character.”_ Heinwald muttered, his tone of voice peppered with amusement for Kleimann’s habit. “ _So—”_ the sound of a rump hitting a plush chair. “ _—I assume you contacted me not just because you wanted to spend some time with me and waste expensive catalysts.”_ Kleimann made a noise of affirmation. _“Cassandra isn’t linked with us.”_

“No, sadly.” Kleimann said. And it _was_ sad. Cassandra’s letter lay open at his desk. It had arrived a day after Heinwald’s. He had read it already. The parchment paper she had written on was of such fine quality that he could probably sell it for a good price after removing the ink and any lingering traces of her mind-render charms. He’d never actually sell it, of course, but the thought had to cross his head. It was how she did everything. “She is traveling and cannot afford to do these kinds of things.”

Heinwald hummed. The candle did its best to replicate his emotion with its flicker and dance. It was somewhat succeeding. _“That woman never sits still.”_ Kleinmann nodded. _“It thus falls to me to entertain you, I suppose.”_

He smiled as he waved his hand, extinguishing Cassandra’s candle. It was a long shot, but he should’ve known not to waste one of her hairs, or the extra dragonscale dust. But it was fine. Someday he’d get her to freshen his supply, and he’d do the same in return. An endless chain of professional reciprocity. “I am in your care.” He addressed the candle.

 _“Naturally.”_ The occultist said. “ _So, how is your mana research going? I expect your subject is performing adequately?_ ”

“He’s exceeding expectations.” The candle burned as he explained. “His physique and lifestyle have taken full advantage of his genetic disposition, so I knew he was strong. But he’s got great affinity for the type of procedure we’re undertaking.”

 _“You’ll have to get more research subjects to establish a genuine curve, then.”_ He sounded genuinely impressed. _“Congratulations.”_

“Thank you.” Kleimann said, and he leaned forward, his mouth frowning. “But there’s an issue…with his development.” Upon being prompted, the mage began to recount the events of the past two weeks, reading off results from his grimoire. He had already transferred Ranzal’s survey results to his own data banks as well, so he referenced those too. “…And this has, in essence, resulted in my research candidate forming a neurological association between his musculoskeletal and reproductive systems.”

Heinwald, up to speed, laughed a little. If he knew the man (and he did), Kleimann would bet he was doing it behind a polite hand. “ _Oh, you always get the fun cases, don’t you?”_

“I would imagine hunting ghosts and wraiths is also fun.” He responded.

 _“True enough. But if what you say is true, he must’ve formed a deposit of mana in his…”_ A shift. Heinwald continued. “ _It’s not in his seminal vesicle, is it?_ ” He asked, referencing one of the few other cases of this kind of result.

“No. In his testicles.”

 _“Well, either way he’s a complete moron from what you told me. You’ll not be able to market this with those kinds of results.”_ Kleimann raised an empty tea cup because, truly, Heinwald understood the pain. _“But this_ is _one of your areas of expertise. How are you extracting the mana? Through ejaculation, or…”_

“Simple ejaculation is enough.”

_“Good. So what’s the problem?”_

Kleimann pinched the bridge of his nose. As fun as it was to make Ranzal squirm under his touch and see his haughty face flustered with sweat and heat, this had not been in his original plan. If things continued to derail, he’d start regretting wanting to teach the idiot a lesson. He stared at Heinwald’s candle as he thought about how to explain this predicament to his supporting researcher. “When I was first starting to have the mana removed, I had him try to masturbate himself to completion. However, he wasn’t able to, and I had to assist him.”

_“In what way?”_

The mage shrugged. To hell with it. “Would you approve of prostate stimulation in this case?”

Another laugh. This time Heinwald wasn’t covering his mouth. The flame flickered with mirth, it’s orange center bobbing around in the purple. “ _You know—”_ this was really tickling him, wasn’t it? Expected. He’d have the same reaction if someone told him their research subject depended on them to get off. It was very comical. “— _I was thinking that you might have resorted to that. Did he take it well?”_

“He initially got offended.” He’d been bluffing when he suggested Ranzal bend over his desk, but it would seem his research subject was proud enough to see it as an indignity. Lord only knew how he treated the women he was so fond of. “But then, after I prepared an alternative arrangement tailored for comfort, he allowed me to probe him.”

_“You mean, you set up a sexy chair and he sat in it while you pleasured him.”_

That brought a snicker out of the blonde mage. “For science.”

“ _Oh, of course, for science.”_ Heinwald was a master of the supernatural, an authority of the occult. But even ghost hunting had rules bound by the scientific method, and he was nothing if not a stickler. “ _You’re concerned about it, if you’re asking for my advice. This is unlike you, Kleimann.”_

“Somewhat. In a sense, while I have worked in this field before, this is new territory for me.” He said. “Lions don’t care for the opinions of sheep.” It wasn’t like it was a secret. Kleimann dealt with death, and he had killed his fair share of people, fiends, and animals. Those who had the mettle for true art went near him with trepidation. Those who preferred to call each other magus in name only feared his presence. And the opinion of the poor saps who were chosen to power his spells didn’t often matter. “But see, when you pledge your loyalty to a…rich man,” He was careful with his words. “you have to put out useful results for his cause.”

_“Never would I thought that_ you _would be one to sell out for comfort, old friend.”_

He grinned. “Even geniuses need to eat.”

They enjoyed their breakfast for a moment longer. _“So, you can’t afford to kill this man. Your boss—”_ He was smoother with his deception. Neither of them were gods, so anyone could be conceivably listening in if they really, really wanted to. They were, after all, in war time. “ _would not look favorably upon you, and most likely cease to fund your…”_

“My…?”

“Your pet project.”

“Fuck off.” He said, biting off a large chunk. His research was going to revolutionize the world, and Heinwald was just a jealous little troglodyte with no imagination.

The man ignored him, thought for a while. Kleimann heard leafing sounds. Books? Oh, he was surely searching through their university’s ethics manuals. Kleimann had them too, knew their contents in the general term. But he was not at a level of ethical expertise like Heinwald or Cassandra were. In that sense, he had to admit his professors had been correct to pair them up together. They’d kept him in check, acceptable to magic society.

“Now I’m worried I won’t get any funding.” He joked.

 _“As if_ you’d _get any grant approvals.”_ Scribbling sounds. Kleimann kept his gaze on the flickering candle, watching as it twitched to any and all input from Heinwald’s side. Eventually, the occultist groaned in the tell-tale way that meant he was stretching. “ _So. You’re not outside any of our research norms at the moment. You’ll have to keep detailed notes on the procedure of your ‘release tactics’, and include them in your monthly correspondences.”_ He took a sip of his water. _“Of course, you’ll be aiming to refine your experiment for a method that_ doesn’t _result in these issues. Otherwise, as you know, no market.”_

Excellent, excellent! Kleimann danced in his chair. “Oh, what good it is to have a friend like you!” He smiled through Heinwald’s telling silence. “You know, I’d appreciate it if you joined me for some additional oversight.” His cheeks grew hot. “I could let you _play_ with our warrior.” He cooed.

_“I’m fine where I am.”_

“Oh, come on, old sport! You love me!”

_“I do. And I’m fine where I am.”_

Well, it was worth a shot. Sure, it would have been phenomenal to have a signature from one of the few mages with full dominion over all mana elements, but Heinwald was hard to persuade. Where Kleimann jumped at any opportunity to prod and stab and measure, Heinwald chose his projects with such meticulous jurisdiction it brought the mage to tears. “You’re boring.” He whined.

_“And you’re insane.”_

Kleimann stood up, whisked away his empty cup and dishes with his wand as he walked towards the candle. Licked his fingertips. _“I’ll say it once again.”_ He stopped his rising hand. _“You need to find a better hobby.”_

Kleimann slowly put his mask back on, made the blue diamonds blaze.

“I’m grateful for the concern…” He got close to the flame, almost to the point where his lips would start to burn. “…but you underestimate my ambition.” Like this, he felt as if he were glaring down at Heinwald, sitting in his plush red chair. “I am fine without your approval, _old friend_.”

 _“Oh, I don’t approve or disapprove. You can do what you want with your life.”_ The occultist said, not missing a beat. “ _As long as you remember you only have one.”_

“I’m well aware.” He said.

“… _Root be yours.”_

“Root be yours.” He repeated, as he should.

He extinguished the candle.

For a moment, Kleimann stood in his lab, listening to the silence.

And then, with practiced wand motions, he silently set to cleaning up his candlesticks, his chair, his jars. Bit by bit, until his lab got back to normal. He stored Casssandra and Heinwald’s hair in their proper place, reinforced the runes that protected them.

And right on cue, a knock on his door.

“Come on in, Ranzal.” He called out, sitting in his chair, getting ready to clean his mortar and prime it for mixing a different substance. “We have much to prepare today.”

Ranzal had slept well, it seemed. He wore his characteristic frown, and was rubbing gunk out of his eyes.

He was nude in front of Kleimann, doing some light warm-ups. The light of the room, brought up to levels acceptable to the mercenary, gave his developed muscles good contrast. His hair was messy, shaped by his sleep. It bounced with his movements, and made Kleimann chuckle as he watched. Like this, he didn’t look at all like a competent fighter. Rather like a drunk right out of a bar. Then again, Ranzal fit that bill as well, didn’t he?

As he mixed the minotaur blood and eagle feathers, Kleimann took note of the way Ranzal moved. Strong, smooth, quickly shaking off the slow, comfortable bondage of dreams. By the time Kleimann added the limestone powder and wyrmscale flakes (arduously obtained as a begrudging gift), the man was fully awake. “So, what’s the deal with this, now? How are we gonna keep from…” He coughed.

“From you getting engorged on the battlefield, yes.” Would the clinical terms help the manchild? Perhaps they would. Ranzal blushed only slightly. Again, he had seen the man ejaculate five times. Had pleasured him both with a toy and with his own fingers. “For someone who’s so fond of the bedroom, you sure are shy about it.”

Ranzal’s frown became a proper scowl. “Watch it.”

Kleimann grinned a little. “Yes, yes, your grace. I shall endeavor to remain proper for your sake.” Ranzal crossed his arms, and Kleimann chalked it up to a mercenary hating any association with monarchs and lords. All one had to do was get them to pay well. If one liked them personally, it was a good bonus. He added some purified lake water, and the paint began to take form. “I’ll be applying this mana paint on your body to redirect the flow of your mana. Come here so I can paint the runes on you.”

Ranzal did as he was told, his feet softly padding the ground as he stood in front of Kleimann. The blonde mage wasn’t exactly satisfied with the consistency of the paint, so he added a little bit of wyrmscale flake and reconstituted the underlying formulae. “Just a moment.” As he mixed and incorporated the material fully, he caught the mercenary’s member (already impressive in it’s unexcited state) begin to engorge somewhat.

He looked up. Ranzal’s cheeks were fully pink. “It’s fuckin’ weird just standin’ next to you with your face next to my crotch.”

“ _Ranzal_.”

“What, I can’t help it…” He looked up, mortified.

“You’re acting like I’m going to pop it in my mouth.”

Ranzal’s cock twitched at the words. “Don’t fuckin’ say that, you pervert!”

He flicked the shaft to get the man to stop being so foolish. “You need not worry. I have all the mana I need. I don’t require feeding.” He ignored the way his eyebrows lifted in surprise. Unedcuated. But then, just to make sure Ranzal got the message, he leaned closer and gave him a sultry smile. “Unless you _want_ me to?” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Was I that good last night?”

Ranzal bristled with hot, pink indignation as Kleimann picked up a brush. “ _NO.”_

“Then relax, and prepare for some cold.” He dipped it into the paint, fed just the slightest trickle of mana into the tool. “It won’t hurt. Stop tensing up.” His mana control was second to none, rendered as fine as the hairs and feathers of a wind dragon by years of careful study. Slowly, he applied the brush at Ranzal’s navel, right over his sacral region. “If you could breathe evenly for the next couple minutes…”

Ranzal, shuddering at the feeling of the paint, tried to oblige.

The mage moved his paintbrush delicately, pressing with different pressure to modify the width of his strokes. The paint, charged with his mana, applied itself in an even coat. The muscles underneath, brimming with strength, twitched at the sensation, and early in the procedure Kleimann had to wait for Ranzal to get himself in order. He was not a fan of fiddling with mistaken paint strokes or fixing runes that were supposed to be perfect, but he’d have to do it for this man, he supposed. As he moved his paint brush across the mercenary’s chest, things got to be more tolerable for him.

“Feels like you’re playin’ around…” He breathed out when Kleimann encircled one of his nipples.

“I assure you, there’s a method. I spent a good chunk of my night coding these to match your body and mana signature.” He murmured as he checked the encryption on Ranzal’s left pectoral. The main heart rune was well-drawn, but the bottom strokes needed to be refined a little. He bit his lip as he called the paint back into his brush’s bristles. “You’re doing better than I expected.”

“Because I ain’t scratchin’ the itches?”

He nodded.

“I have self-control, you know.”

Kleimann nodded again.

Ranzal’s jaw set, and his aorta pulsed in his neck.

But he calmed down.

Ah…

As Kleimann wrote the necessary runic text around the heart rune, he moved back down to finish the base that he had set up at Ranzal’s front. His abdominal muscles were adorned with flowing script that led to a form of a setting sun at his pubic area. Shaved. Oh? He cocked his head, making sure the words of power were set in their proper syntax. “I was sure you had hair here yesterday.”

“I…thought I should prepare. You said I was gonna get runes and shit.”

“You don’t need to _shave_ for runes.” He sighed. The state of the educational system really was in disarray. How dreadful. “The paint doesn’t interact with hair follicles. It seals itself atop the epidermis and keeps its integrity with your body’s natural rhythmic mana pulses.” He’d explain, of course, as Ranzal hadn’t obtained any prior informational document, and thus could not have elected to ignore it this time around. But it was just so striking to Kleimann that outside of the world of academia people could be so…uncultured. “It will retain its integrity even if the skin breaks or you get wet.” Because only an idiot would make a warrior go into the field with feeble skin runes. Barring a _huge_ gash, Ranzal would be fine. If it came down to that type of situation, his body would need his mana completely unencumbered, anyway.

“Oh.” The mercenary said. Yes, _oh_. “Well, whatever. Needed to shave down there anyway.”

Kleimann had a very specific image when it came to mercenaries. They were barbaric brutes who slaved for coin and killed for the enjoyment of it. They lived off the land and had simple pleasures. “I thought mercenaries didn’t care for shaving.”

Ranzal shrugged. Kleimann made sure to stop his brushstrokes for that moment, taking advantage of the time to choose between some alternatives for one of the binding characters at the base of Ranzal’s dick. “It’s just a preference I got sometimes. You got a problem with that?”

“What problem could I possibly—” Whatever. It seems this one _hadn’t_ gotten such a good sleep after all. Or perhaps yesterday’s events hadn’t actually done anything for their shared animosity. Kleimann finished inscribing the setting sun and stood up to survey his work. The pectorals, abdominal area, and navel had been properly inscribed. The back and the extremities were next. “Turn around, boy.”

Ranzal obliged. And Kleimann went with a mountain-centered script for his back, watching as the broad, strong muscles shivered at his touch. “Focus.”

“Shut up.” But he began to breathe a little harder. A little stronger. Kleimann warmed the paint slightly, and it seemed that did the trick.

He continued, covering Ranzal’s whole back with his artistry, connecting the front and back runes across the serratus anterior muscles and making the top center itself at the nape of his neck. A perfectly beautiful script. The mercenary lifted his arms to allow him to reach around when needed, flinched heavily when the hairs on the back his neck were brushed over. When Kleimann got down to the glutes, he was thankful for the taut skin of Ranzal’s developed backside; it made his work much easier. In the few times Kleimann had performed this art on human bodies, most had not had skin primed for easy script writing, and he’d had to deal with another factor to correct for. Upon feeling the brush, Ranzal’s body temperature increased, as did his heart rate. Kleimann paused, then continued. “You may feel pressure from the paint as it begins to connect with your magic circuits. That should tell you it’s setting in well.”

Ranzal calmed again, considering. “I…I do feel that.” His back muscles flexed. Kleimann was pleased to see his runes were taking to his body already. The young and virile had an easier time with these augments. “…Still feels like you’re just drawing random shit all over me.”

“I’ll give you a lecture later, if you’re so interested.”

Ranzal shrugged. “Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Very well.” Kleimann said, sticking the bottom of his brush in between Ranzal’s cheeks.

It held well.

Ranzal turned around, glaring, his ears hot. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Kleimann stood, grinned. He walked around Ranzal, slowly reading the runes. “Just making sure things are lining up well. Decided to dock my paintbrush for a moment.”

They were looking at each other now. One in front of the other. One naked and glowering, the other clothed and smiling.

Ranzal’s cheeks were fully pink, and the look on his face made his attitude worthwhile. It was good to see him taken down a good peg. “So…” He went to cross his arms, then thought better of it, and put his hands on his hips. “How’s it look?”

Kleimann took his sweet time reading the runes, making sure the flow of mana was logical and properly focused. Enhance and wake the body, seal and sleep the genitals. Ranzal tried to bottle his impatience. After a moment of making sure things were fine, that the arrows and script would not produce some syntax error later, the mage nodded. “It’s all looking fine.” He flicked his finger, and the brush and mortar floated up in the air next to him. Ranzal’s eyes widened at the sudden motion at his ass, and he squinted. “We’ve been through much more, boy. Chin up.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Is that a crime?” He said, dipping the paint back into the mortar.

“Should be.” He grumbled. He was frowning down at his cock as it twitched, getting slightly harder, threatening to leak onto the floor. “Thought this was supposed to help it stay down.”

“The runes aren’t active yet, boy. Patience.” He called for another brush, dipped it in the mortar and collected a fair amount of paint in the bristles. “But if you so desire, I’ll make this go faster. Spread your legs.” As Ranzal did as he was asked ( _bit wider, boy_ ), Kleimann planned his trajectory. The whole runic script was chosen specifically for Ranzal. He had been developing it all night. But now that he was at this point, he was wondering about options. He saw more possibilities than the ones he had chosen originally, different routes he could take. Taking a moment to think, the mage summoned the notes, leafed through them, compared them with two of his textbooks, pitting up fresh data with established biomagical trends. What to do, what to do…

“This should only take a few more minutes.”

“Sure.” Ranzal said. Took a breath as he felt the two paint brushes on his navel again.

“Bear with me for a bit.”

Kleimann readied his wand and began to conduct.

Magic was his music, runes were his notes. He was the head of an orchestra many would never grow to appreciate. Least of all Ranzal himself. But that was alright. As he moved his wand and kept immaculate hold of the paintbrushes and mortar, he wrote identical runes on both of Ranzal’s legs, starting from the navel at the nodes and flowering past onto his sculpted thighs. He allowed himself to peek a little at Ranzal’s face. Pink, hot, and watching the paint brushes snake around his legs in mirrored unison. Yes, watch. Watch and be amazed. Kleimann’s script was a marvel. No dot of ink was irrelevant, no rune unnecessary to the grander machinations of bodily regulation. There were usually no audience members for him to show off his command of the scientific arts to. Even if Ranzal was a meathead, even if he had no appreciation for the fine aspects of the world, and even if he refused to connect with Kleimann, he would have to do. Eventually, he’d see the beauty.

Three dots on Ranzal’s feet, and a grounding rune that would connect to the sub-circuit at his coccyx. The legs were done.

“You can stand normally again.” He said, stretching.

“…These look kind of cool.” Ranzal murmured.

Just like Kleimann predicted. “You can admire yourself later, pretty boy. Arms up.” Ranzal blinked, did as he was told. And Kleimann focused on the nodes on his back to begin the runes.

Things progressed much the same.

“You ain’t gonna do my hands?” He asked when Kleimann’s brushes withdrew at his wrists.

“That’s unnecessary. The runic covering is completed. I don’t need to add anything else.” He noted that Ranzal sounded a little disappointed. Like a child who’s told they can’t have rubies on their wands just yet. “Fine. Bring them here.” His runes were already perfect, but now that he thought about the prospect, reinforcement to the phalanges and palms would not be unwelcome for Ranzal. Hell, the idiot might even need it, considering the way he was. The mage toned down the flow capacity for this section by a half-decade of power flow, and inscribed a comparatively simpler set of runes on the man’s fingers, palms, and the backs of his hand.

“Huh…” Ranzal said, looking at his hands like he hadn’t seen them in a long while.

Kleimann zeroed-in on that look. “If you want, you can observe yourself over there.” He summoned a mirror from the ground, made the minerals line up at the optimal angle for reflection as he applied the necessary principles over them.

Magic was a lonely art, by nature. The true pursuit of knowledge led one, sooner or later, into the unknown. It was useless to resist it; unless one was not truly devoted to the art, the call to know more, to be more, would ensnare them sooner or later. That’s why Kleimann dove headfirst into that abyss. He sought all he could, yearned for the Root as all magicians did, through all the danger and mystery and madness of the craft. And he was fine with that. This was what he was meant to do. It was what he was.

He was used to appreciating himself.

But as he watched Ranzal look at himself in the mirror, Kleimann found himself musing. He watched as Ranzal turned and lifted his arms and legs, watched the intricate work on his skin from different angles, flexed his fingers. He surely could not read it or understand it, but he could feel it on his skin. Feel the imprint of it, and the way that it made his mana redirect itself. He was impressed, stunned at the way that his rebellious cock was now so easily quelled, at the obviously improved regulation of mana under his skin. The quiet wonder on his face was so unlike the Ranzal he knew. It was not the way that a man who lived on meat and murder and sex should look like. It was calm, studious.

The mage opened his mouth. Then closed it when Ranzal smiled and made his wind mana pulse from his body. He took a small breath, and the green pulse was slowly overtaken by a purple burning of power on his shoulders and arms. He was so transfixed with what he saw in the mirror that Kleimann had enough time to think.

He could call him out on his bullshit then and there, accuse him of hiding whatever it was that he was hiding.

But truth usually revealed itself one way or another. No need to rush things. And if he was being perfectly honest with himself, the idea of having an argument and being on the wrong side of plausible deniability with _Ranzal_ of all people was not at all appealing.

So Kleimann pushed the thought away, decided to play a spade for spade, and act dumb. “How is it?” He asked him, leaning back, his wand pulsing with purple light.

“…It’s good.” Ranzal said, turning away from the mirror to look at Kleimann. Nodding as he flexed his hands one more time, not looking like a good-for-nothing mercenary in the slightest. “It’s good.”

Kleimann arched his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure through Ranzal’s body as he held to the chair for purchase. “You did good today.” He commented, moving his fingers in and out of the man’s hole. A tight squeeze. The mage pulsed a small amount of mana through his digits, calming down the walls of Ranzal’s rectum and easing the pressure. He could wiggle them now. “Your element switching is becoming smoother.”

Three days had passed since they had started to incorporate the painted runes on Ranzal’s body. Based on reports from Ranzal and from the medic that had given Kleimann the man’s biometrics, things seemed to be progressing well. No more ‘weird boners’, as Ranzal called them. No more embarrassment in the battlefield. Only efficiency and might. When they had first started this experiment, there had been a small jerkiness to the mana signals that Ranzal outputted. A normal consequence of using his magic circuits in this novel way. But that noise was getting smaller and smaller.

“Fuck…” A suitable ‘thank you’ from Ranzal. The man was blushing, stroking his cock. He liked to put his own hand on himself, to give himself a bit of agency in this process. That was fine by Kleimann. It sped things up somewhat, and it let Ranzal be more comfortable with the overall process of extracting this unnecessary mana from his testicles.

The fact that Ranzal was jacking himself off, however, didn’t mean he wasn’t pushing down onto Kleimann’s fingers, clenching around the magician’s digits. He bit his lip and his cock twitched in his hard grasp. “Fuck, fuck, touch me again.”

Kleimann arched his fingers once more.

Ranzal’s back arched with them as his prostate was stimulated.

“How…how are you so fucking good with that?” He nearly moaned. A bit of drool was collecting at the corner of his lip. The mercenary’s ass was warm and needy and—he twitched with pleasure when Kleimann rubbed again. And again. Ranzal put his hand on his mouth and let a string of something unintelligible out of his lips.

He didn’t stop himself from moaning that time.

Kleimann couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He leaned a little closer, had a bit more fun with how his fingers moved. “Just a bit of mana here and there. But it’s mostly just technique.”

“You—you do this a lot?” The mercenary looked right at him, grinned in a way that made him look almost feral in this state. “Pervert.”

“Even I have my fun.” He commented, pushed a third finger in, relished the obscene curses that Ranzal let out. “You have quite the foul mouth, boy.”

He soured a little at that. “I ain’t no _boy_ —” He bucked his ass down, wanting more. “I have your fucking fingers up my—” He breathed in, touching himself less. Trying not to cum? “S’not like I can’t fuckin’ feel them up there.”

“Hmmm.” He got closer to the man’s prostate again.

Then withdrew.

Kleimann almost got all of his fingers out when Ranzal suddenly leaned forward, grabbed his wrist. “Woah woah! Put em back.”

“Oh?” He smirked. If the mage was honest with himself, he loved this face Ranzal was making. This annoyed, needy, angry face that betrayed his position and their current dynamic.

“ _Put them_ —”

Kleimann did as he was asked, right up to the prostate, and Ranzal grabbed his shoulders very hard. “…You did that on purpose.” But his hips were moving to the rhythm, and his face was pink.

“Lie back down. Breathe.” Kleimann put his other hand on Ranzal’s broad chest. Pushed just lightly. “Let it happen.”

“Wait, no—” He breathed out, gasping, letting Kleimann guide him back to laying down and moaning. “Wait…”

There were times when Ranzal got like this. Times when it felt like he didn’t want this to simply be an extraction of mana. Kleimann let himself bask in the knowledge that he was, indeed, that good with his hands. But this was also a scientific procedure, and they had to reach climax. Even if Ranzal was currently enjoying himself far more than he’d ever admit after orgasm. Even if he was also enjoying himself. They’d have to let it happen.

“Just breathe.” He said, using his other hand to jack him off. At his touch, Ranzal’s hips jerked upward, and he began to fuck the magician’s hand. Outright fuck his hand. The man’s manhood was certainly large. Kleimann resorted to kneading the leaking head, murmuring a spell to stimulate blood flow and call upon the deposit of mana that was stored in his comrade’s balls. “There will be more. Just breathe.”

“Fuck, Kleimann—” Ranzal said in a strange tone.

“Oh, you’re calling me by my name now?” He laughed. “How sweet!”

He was back to being angry. “I ain’t doing _nothing_ , you piece of—” But he couldn’t finish the insult. Kleimann’s hand was soon covered with mana-dense semen, his other hand gently massaging Ranzal’s rectum as the man arched and bucked and _moaned_. His hips trembled with the exertion, and soon, Kleimann had the day’s second sample stored away in a vial.

“Good. That was a lot.” He put his hands, dry with a spell, on Ranzal’s balls. He could still sense some more mana in there, and after a few seconds where Kleimann let the man breathe and drink, his cock was once again throbbing with need. “There’s still more though.” He grinned as he poked at the rigid, thick dick. “I told you there would be more.”

Ranzal didn’t say anything, his face pink and sweaty. He opened his legs, and sighed when Kleimann massaged his entrance with lube.

Ranzal cut down the fiend before him with a flourish, green mana pulsing through his axe.

Not all fiends required him to switch to a shadow-based strike. Some fiends were attuned to water. And he had always been ready to fight those. He swung his axe over his shoulder and turned around. “Alright. Show me what you can do.” He spoke to his young charges.

Euden had spoken to him that morning about the younger members of the Halidom’s forces. All capable and strong in their own right, the Prince still worried for these little ones. He was pure of heart, sound of mind. Euden understood that in this world, anyone that could fight would, regardless of age. Royals like Leonidas, who loved war and conflict, had no problem conscripting children into the ranks of their military. Even Saint Lotier, with its high and lofty ideals, reserved places for child prodigies in the ranks of its warriors. In that sense, Euden was interesting, because he tried to keep anyone who was not of age away from the front lines.

That did not mean letting these children languish by without proper tutoring, of course. Ranzal and Sophie had taken the day to monitor a few of these younglings and gauge their skills. If anything happened, they needed to know how to use their wits and bodies. Even if they already thought they knew everything there was to know.

Children like Maribelle were like that. Gifted with powers by the forest spirits, she was like a walking bomb of wind mana, ready to tear anything apart. “Alright!” She called out gleefully, bouncing with energy as she twirled her staff.

“Look,” Sophie whispered into his ear. “Look at her feet.” She smiled with the gentleness of a mother as she stood by. Ranzal followed her directions. The young girl was floating ever so slightly, leaves swirling around her.

“Stop showing off and get serious.” He called lightly. Maribelle giggled and put her little toes back on the ground.

“Be careful, Maribelle!” Lowen called out. He walked next to (really, behind) Sarisse. A shy boy, he was a hoot when he let himself let loose. Ranzal remembered what Kleimann had said to him, about Lowen being powerful enough to call out fire mana naturally. He had a knack for healing, stitched wounds so finely and sweetly that there was hardly ever a scar left behind. Everyone in the Halidom adored the kid, but he really was just a child. His sister wasn’t around at the moment, so he was retreating into his shell. If she were around, he’d be much more outspoken.

Well, he’d be clinging to her like a koala, but he’d certainly be more at ease.

“Relax, Lowen! Geez, you’re like a newborn doe.” Oof. Lowen got along well with the other children, and these girls were his friends. But Sarisse was blessed with a sharp tongue, and a small well of inhibition. She was as brazen as she was honest, and Ranzal silently praised Lowen for not taking it _too_ hard. He wondered how Luca had faired as a child with her at his side. Must have been quite the time. The Sylvan girl readied her bow and notched an arrow. “Imma get a fiend in between the eyes! Right in the cranium!”

“Geez…” Lowen murmured, twisting his long staff and almost trying to hide behind it.

“Yeah, Sarisse. That’s _dark!_ ” Maribelle said. She had her hands on her hips then. But unlike Lowen, she was firm.

“Remember to hold your staff a little more out from your chest!” Sophie called out, her sweet voice like a bell in the wind. Lowen slowly let himself put more distance between the blessed wood and his chest. “Good, good! The fiends are coming again, so be ready!”

“Ok!” The children called out with varying degrees of excitement.

When they had a bit more distance between them, the two adults began to talk, watching as they spread out. Sarisse went through the few trees in the clearing, Maribelle whizzed around on the grass, and Lowen ran around, keeping both of them within range of his healing spells. “That Sarisse, she never lets you forget she likes to hunt, does she?” Sophie said.

“She’s almost as good at skinning as I am.” Ranzal nodded. “And she’s real good with that bow. No sufferin’, no nothin’. Quick and easy.” Once, Ranzal had seen her hunting with her brother. As much of a humorous buffoon that Luca could be, when it came to hunting, he was serious. It was almost like watching people go to Church, if the forest was a place of worship. “Makes sense, though. They love the forest and everythin’ in it.”

The way that Luca scanned the earth, the way that Sarisse made sure all her shots killed instantaneously and cleanly—every movement was as calculated as a prayer.

And she was that way, even now. Of course, fiends weren’t real animals, and could feel nothing except hate. But she dispatched them so well. If hunting and good treatment of her prey was part of her worship, this was her honing her skills, making sure he had the strength to love nature properly.

“Her mana sparkles like a jewel.” Sophie said, a dreamy look in her eyes. “All their mana does.”

“Mana from kids is purer and shit, right? Cleaner?” He read that somewhere.

Sophie tugged at his ear. “No cursing, now.” He let her do it. She was a proper lady, through and through, and did not appreciate unnecessary roughness. Of course, she was more patient and kindly than some others. Hildegarde, for example, would’ve made him read prayers as a penance (with quite the vengeance, as the woman knew where he stood in regards to faith and religion). At the very least, Ranzal would tread respectfully around the subject of mana. It was her deal, after all.

“But you _are_ correct. Mana from a child is pure. It’s very easy to shape. And when you have a lot of reserves as a child, well…” They turned to see the sudden appearance of a twister in the field. Maribelle let out an adorable laugh as she spun around and flew back to the ground, fiends dissipating around her. She landed in front of a mushroom cap and bonked it so hard it grew dizzy. “My, oh my.” Sophie was glued to Maribelle’s every action.

“Did you hear that Migardsorm gave her one of his scales the other day?”

“Oh, I have no doubt. All the wind dragons _adore_ her. She’s going to be _a star_ when she gets older.” The way Sophie spoke, he could almost see it. An older, taller, fuller Maribelle, with power pulsing across her entire body. Ranzal resolved to live to see that day, when that woodland girl would take on the world and win.

“Ahhhh!!” A small yell broke his thoughts.

Ranzal sighed, moving from looking at their star to…their final pupil for the day. “That Lowen, though…” He scratched the back of his head. The boy was trying, he really was. But he was fumbling, running and forgetting proper staff stance in the process. “He’s _dancin’_ around those fiends, lookit!” The young lad was avoiding almost all possible engagement with the blue things that threatened him, running around and only sending out pulses of energy to disperse the goblins when absolutely necessary. He stuck to Sarisse, then to Maribelle, and if he got too separated from them—

“Oh dear…”Sophie put her hands together real dainty-like as Lowen, realizing his two friends were a bit farther away than he’d like, started to run around like a chicken without a head. Even the fiends were having trouble keeping up with him. “Well, at least he knows how to create a diversion?”

“I mean….” Lowen reached a rock where Sarisee was perched. The Sylvan girl chewed him out, and Ranzal _really_ felt for the little guy. “…sure.”

They waited a little more before Sophie decided to stand. “Should we go closer?”

“Might as well. Little dude’s lookin’ like he’s gonna _puke_.”

When they got closer, as expected, Lowen zipped towards them like a cub around its parents. If Louise were here, she’d not hesitate to scoop him up. Sophie almost did, but Ranzal put out his hand. They shared a look. She stepped back and instead, Ranzal engaged. “How’s it going?”

“G-Good…” He said.

“He’s throwing me off my game, man!” Sarisse called out as she flipped through the air and fired three arrows in quick succession. “My mojo is off it’s flow-flow!”

“What, what kind of slang is that?” Sophie wondered aloud.

Ranzal ignored it, gave the bow mistress a signal, and the young Sylvan broke off and ran. They’d be able to care for themselves for a moment. With her gone, Ranzal turned to Lowen again. “Yer shakin’ like a leaf, kid.” He knelt down, gave Lowen a light smack on his back. “Stand up straight.”

“B-But, how will that—”

“Just humor me, smalls.”

Lowen did as he was told, but then curled back. “F-Fiends!” He squeaked. Ranzal looked up to see a few monsters bounding towards them.

Sophie stepped forward. “I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry!” She said cheerfully. Her staff twirling around her fingers, she collected mana into three orbs of power and sent it out.

Ranzal pointed to her. “She’s got it.”

Lowen stared silently. Slowly, his back stopped arching forward.

“Breathe, kiddo.”

Lowen let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Shaky, embarrassed. Ranzal made it a point to not look at him too harshly, but if Euden’s commands were to be followed well, he would have to treat the boy with some level of strictness. That was why his sister had been sent out on another assignment a week prior. Euden had known that if she had been in this training session, Lowen would’ve been coddled to no end.

Ranzal wasn’t a hateful person. He liked kids (when they weren’t his), and understood them to a point. But he also wasn’t about to let Lowen turn into mush before his eyes.

“You’re afraid.” He said. “Ain’t ya?”

“….I’m…” As the three women fought before them (as Sophie elegantly twirled and spun and looked so pretty in the light), Lowen’s face began to darken with shame. “…I wanna get stronger, I do. I wanna be better.”

“How come?” And it was a fair question. When Ranzal had first met Lowen, he was being protected by his sister so that he wouldn’t have to become a sacrifice to Garuda. Back then, he’d been right to be terrified of everything, but he’d pushed through, dug deep, and it was his courage that had given them the light to see a solution no one had considered before. That courage was the reason why he and Louise now had a real home after so much time, why Garuda had a wider net of sociability than she had in centuries. But such courage seemed to have faltered.

Ranzal was no psychologist. He could play guessing games all day, attribute Lowen’s backsliding to everything under the sun: his sister was too overprotective and was making him weak, he was feeling inferior to other more experienced people his age, the reality of being allied with Euden the Rebellious Prince was dawning on his young mind—but all in all, it begged the question, _why?_

Why did he want to keep getting better, if he was still backsliding? Why keep trying? If he couldn’t articulate a reason, then he really did have no place putting himself through this discomfort, did he?

Ranzal was no psychologist and no father, but he at least understood the feeling of having to live in the shadow of a grand and imposing family member (even if Lowen’s case was filled with more love than his ever was).

So, he needed to know. Needed to hear the kid himself say it.

“Well…” He twisted his staff. Looked at Ranzal, finally met his eyes which had been continuously staring at him. “…I have to become a man that can protect my sister. And my friends.”

“You think being a man has anythin’ to do with it?”

Lowen’s shoulders curled inward. “Um…well…” He looked forward. “...”

He motioned him to sit next to him on the grass. Lowen looked behind them, worried about possible fiends. “Calm down. Sophie’s got this. Trust her.”

“But I—”

“ _Trust_ her.”

The boy tucked his knees in. “…I’m embarrassed, Ranzal.”

“Cuz yer gettin’ protected by a bunch of girls?”

The boy nodded silently.

Geez. “Well, don’t mean to prod too hard, now. But yer sister protects ya all the time, don’t she?”

“She’s different.” Lowen murmured. “She’s…she’s the best.”

He nodded, sighing through his nose. “I get ya. But she ain’t like that cuz she’s a woman, or in spite of it.” He pointed to Maribelle, who took Sarisse up into the air and let the girl rain arrows down. “She’s good because she’s good. Gender ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

“…Why does it feel so bad, though?”

“Would ya feel better if it were Elias protectin’ ya, instead of Sarisse?” Just to throw a name out. “Course not!” He said when the boy shook his head. “Ain’t about gender. Ya just feel like crud because you’re bein’ called out for your stuff.” He flicked the boy on the head. “The sooner ya get out of that funk, the sooner ya can start actually _doing_ stuff for other people.”

“…Do you ever feel scared, Mr. Ranzal?”

He always did call him ‘Mr.’, didn’t he? Ranzal looked up at the sky and let the wind stroke his hair. “Sure do. World’s a tough place.” He turned to the boy and gave a small smile. “But ya just gotta do yer shit. It’s all about doin’. Ya don’t become strong for no one before you do it for yourself.”

Lowen’s knees were now lowered onto the ground. He was breathing better too. “No one before myself…” He said it to himself, as though it were some secret magic mantra.

“So…” Ranzal turned his head up once more. “You wanna stop?”

It was a question that would hurt any child, but it was effective. Made you feel like you were being coddled outright, made you want to keep going and prove yourself. And if it had worked for Ranzal as a kid, it worked for Lowen. The boy’s eyes went wide, he shook his head, he hurried to stand up again. “N-No! I can keep going!”

Ranzal stood slowly. “No more cold feet?”

A shake of an innocent head.

“Well, good to see you’re bein’ brave again.” He grunted as he crouched. Put out his weathered fist. “I was wonderin’ where that Lowen had gone off to.”

Lowen blinked, smiled, and punched Ranzal’s larger fist with his smaller one.

The two began to walk. “Yer stickin’ with me. Keep me alive and support me from behind, yeah?”

“R-Right!”

Ranzal scanned the field. Sarisse and Maribelle were whizzing around, busy as ever. Sophie caught up to them. “Hey.” She cocked her head towards the girls, a silent question in her eyes.

“Hey. We got this.” He nodded. She went to support the girls, but Ranzal caught how she kept them within her range of awareness. Sure. Let’s not be _too_ stupidly courageous about this. The sun’s rays were fine, but a plant _could_ burn up if no clouds or shade ever gave it some cover. So Sophie would keep her focus mainly on the two girls. If anything _were_ to happen with Ranzal and Lowen, she’d intervene and help out. This way, they’d strike a balance between carefulness and encouragement. True responsibility.

Something told Ranzal that Lowen was more than capable, though.

“See that big fiend?” He pointed his axe at the huge mushroom that was bounding towards them. “We’re gonna kill it good.”

“O-Ok.” Lowen said. “Breathe. Put your staff farther away. Steady grip.” He spoke to himself, going through the motions as he adopted a tried but true stance for staff users.

“That’s the way!” Ranzal grinned, readied his axe. He bounded, one, two, three—and he was in the air, twisting to add some spin to his axe as he struck the mushroom on its cap. It roared in ‘pain’. “Shake it off!” But perhaps his call was unnecessary, for Lowen was already shaking off the fear that the mushroom had inflicted with its cry. He sent out pulses of energy from his staff, keeping good rhythm. “Good! Shoot the little feet!”

The mushroom released wet spores that dug into Ranzal’s skin, and he quickly pushed his axe out, landing on the ground. “Sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask ya to _die_.”

The fiend’s eyes blazed, and its sharp teeth revealed itself from its deceitfully cute ‘mouth’. Ranzal may not have been a father, but in that moment he would be _damned_ if this thing got to Lowen or any of the other kids.

He struck, received a heavy blow from the mushroom. But Lowen was already on it, applying a regenerative spell that didn’t even let Ranzal feel the pain.

And just like that, he was back on the rhythm of his staff. One one two, one one two three. One one two, one one two three.

Ranzal found himself copying Lowen’s rhythm…

…And after a few good minutes of brawling, they were done. The fiends were dead, the area was clear, and the sun was setting in the sky, painting it a soft orange. Ranzal turned to the boy who was panting, silently walked over, and put his hand on his head, tussling his hair.

He met the young boy’s gaze, his eyes full of wonder, and grinned. “Good job, kid.”

“Lowen!!” Sarisse ran up to him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Maribelle finished the job. “Maribelle, geez!! Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry! You guys were just so cool!” She giggled.

The children stood. With Maribelle and Sarisse badgering him so kindly and excitedly, Lowen blushed. But it was no longer a blush of sad embarrassment. He was just about ready to _burst_ with pride. “Well, Mr. Ranzal was the one who killed it…” He said, trying like an idiot to be humble.

“I saw you providing cover.” Sophie commented. Like a good teacher, she wore a proud smile. “Quite the spellwork, if I do say so myself.”

Lowen laughed in his sheepish way as he scratched the back of his head. “Man, wait till I tell Big Sis…!”

The children went on ahead, chattering and laughing with energy only they could hold. Ranzal let out a big, guttural sigh, and stretched. “Well, I’m _pooped_ after all that!”

“Playing teacher tired you out? But you were doing so well.” Sophie remarked.

“I didn’t do nothin’, Lowen was the one that what pulled himself together.”

“Oh, I’m _sure._ ” And Ranzal felt his cheeks go a little pink with how she smiled at him. He could feel the runes under his shirt and armor pulse slightly, making sure no desire showed on his body. But hell, he’d be the first to say that Sophie was a prize, even if they were more than likely going to remain as simple friends.

As they walked, the two adults listened to the children’s conversations. Lowen was describing what Ranzal said to him (and he had enough wit to keep out some of the details that might be too personal). “Yeah, and we bumped fists. Ranzal has tattoos!”

“You have _what?!”_ Sarisse whipped around, her hair smacking Lowen in the face. “Oh my gosh, I _gotta_ see.”

“Oooh, me too! I bet they’re real pretty!” Maribelle said.

And with that, they weren’t walking anymore.

Ah, yes. How could he have forgotten? Kleimann had put some of his runes on Ranzal’s hands and fingers. Well, he supposed it couldn’t hurt. “These ain’t tattoos, actually.” The image of these kids getting inked so young made him worry. Louise would skin him alive, and while Luca was quite a chill dude, he cared more than enough about his sister to join in. So Ranzal tried to tone down their excitement about tattoos for the moment. They’d get them if they wanted to when they were older. “I just got some runes on me. See?” He rolled up his sleeve to his elbow. The kids gasped at the intricate markings.

“Ah, may I see?” Sophie peeked in close.

Ranzal nodded, let her, kept his face neutral. He didn’t know how runes worked at all, but he _did_ know that Sophie was a natural expert in mana manipulation. Did she know what this did? Could she see that it was meant to redirect energy from his dick to his muscles just from the bits on his arm and hand? Fuck. As she touched his arm (and gave him light goosebumps), he hoped she wouldn’t think ill of him, or wonder if he was some sort of pervert or had some issue. “These are _very_ well made. See,” She turned to the children. “These marks here are made to enhance the power of muscles with mana flow.”

Bingo, she fucking knew, didn’t she?

Ranzal turned to her, putting on a poker face. “You sure know your stuff. Where’d you learn?”

“Oh, I just picked it up along my travels.” She answered as sweetly as always.

“Why’d you need stuff for your muscles? Ain’t they plenty big already?” Sarisse asked. Lowen put a finger on Ranzal’s wrist, tracing a swirl.

“Well, see,” Ok. He’d just have to talk to Sophie in private. But that didn’t mean he had to feel weird around these little tykes. “I’m actually helpin’ Kleimann with some experiments he’s doing. He wants to see how I react to certain runes and stuff like that, so I gotta wear ‘em like this.”

“Kleimann?!” Sarisse’s ears fluffed up immediately.

Oh boy.

Lowen was back to being a scared little thing. “I-Isn’t he that scary wizard who’s always in the basement?” He was hugging his staff like it would protect him from a big bad Kleimann ogre. “W-Why would you be helping _him_ out?”

Only Maribelle cocked her head. “He’s scary?”

“Oh yeah! Major league, man!” Sarisse said. “My brother says he makes people pee their pants whenever he fights.” She nodded as though she was an authority on Kleimann, and Ranzal could see it. Kleimann was a wild element in battle, and his spells were as shadowy as shadow could get. There had been times when his desire to ‘experiment’ on his enemies had been so strong that he had unleashed spells which had been very difficult to control. Sure, he knew how to clear a room, but everyone had a fear that they’d lose a limb to his antics someday. “And he’s super creepy, too!”

“I-I heard he eats bugs and makes w-weird potions….”

Sarisse turned. “What? You got a problem with eating bugs?”

“They _are_ a good source of protein.” Sophie remarked.

Lowen shivered. “See?!”

Ranzal coughed into his fist. “Ok, ok. Reel it in.” Were there _rumors_ and _stories_ about Kleimann? Well, fuck. The man himself would probably be delighted to know that, but it rubbed Ranzal the wrong way. It was one thing to hear adults whisper about Kleimann, because adults knew what the world was like and they could work around him. But hearing _kids_ gossip? No. He was going to be a responsible adult until the end (even if Kleimann did, in some sense, deserve his reputation as a creep). “Why are y’all talkin’ about him like that?”

“Because he’s a creepy dude.” Sarisse said, matter-of-factly. Lowen nodded, and Maribelle (bless her heart) just looked confused.

“The man’s got his own style.” Putting it hella lightly there, Ranzal—but it was true. And he had to be serious here, not just because it was about a man who had touched him in a way not many had touched him. There was a big principle behind this discomfort. “Don’t mean y’all gotta talk about him like that. A good deal of the grown ups round here got their pasts and such. Are y’all gonna talk about them like that too?”

Louise might glare at him for ‘daring’ to talk to her sweet innocent bundle of joy like that, and Luca might have wanted to join in the fun—but Ranzal spoke the truth. In that moment, Sarisse realized the gravity of what she was saying. The three children were probably remembering grown ups whom they liked, who they wanted to emulate. If they wouldn’t talk badly about their peculiarities, then they shouldn’t talk badly about Kleimann’s (who, again, really never helped himself not earn these kinds of reputations).

“Am I right? Or am I right?”

“You’re right…” The Sylvan girl said in that forlorn childlike way.

“We’re sorry, that was mean.” Lowen deeply apologized.

“Well, I personally think Kleimann is an interesting character.” Sophie said. And that made Ranzal look at her without a poker face. All of them were. “I don’t know a lot about him, but he knows what he’s doing. If _I_ were a part of his lab, I’d help him wherever I could.” She turned to Ranzal. “Does he have you organize his papers? Does he let you read his grimories?”

“Uh…” Ok, new direction. “…Well, no, but I don’t really wanna read those things.”

“Oh, _I_ would love to. It’s not every day you get to work with a real mage.”

“A real mage…”Maribelle said to herself.

That night, after being drained of his surplus mana by Kleimann, Ranzal thought about the conversation he’d had. Sophie thought Kleimann was interesting? There was a chance she had just said that to drive the point home that children shouldn’t judge and gossip. But maybe she _was_ interested. Was she? The thought of her getting runes painted on her naked body was a bit racy.

His dick stood up again as he imagined her small breasts and her lithe frame covered in Kleimann’s ink.

“Oh? One more round?” Kleimann asked. “Something on your mind, boy?”

Ranzal’s face burned. “J-Just thinkin’ bout shit…” But he spread his cheeks and let Kleimann touch him again. Let him put his finger inside him again, and he moaned.

_It’s not every day you get to work with a real mage._

“Well, I can take care of this one too. It makes little difference.” Kleimann pulled up his grimoire and a couple of papers. “You’re still within a downward trend for your semen’s mana density, so that’s fine.” Kleimann softly arched his fingers and made Ranzal see stars for a moment.

He did not come. Instead, Ranzal looked at the papers floating in the air. “Are those…” Fuck, it felt so good when Kleimann moved his fingers that way. Oh, good fuck. “…those my papers?”

“Hmm?” Kleimann’s fingers slowed their movements. “Oh, yes. These are.”

Oh, yeah. He had those, didn’t he…

Ranzal didn’t care what Kleimann said about academia and resources and whatever. It creeped him out that the man had access to his medical files.

Past Kleimann’s shoulder, he could see the man’s desk. It was covered in papers and scrolls. Sure, Kleimann had good skills when it came to data preservation. But his organizational skills were a little lacking, weren’t they? Even someone like him could see that. Ranzal moved to buck against the fingers in his ass, clench around them and make his dick twitch in pleasure.

He thought about Sophie again, about how pretty she was, about how tight she must be down there. Did her folds leak a lot? Did she have any pubic hair? Would she appreciate his thick cock in her pussy? Fuck, the thought of being able to ram his way into her petite form and casue her to mewl made him groan in pleasure as Kleimann moved his fingers in and out of his warm hole. She was a good teacher, wasn’t she? She’d handled those kids well.

For a moment, he thought of Lowen’s sister. Of her strong fingers, of her supple arms that rippled with strength whenever she fired her bowstring.

She’d be a good fuck, too, wouldn’t she be?

But those were auxiliary thoughts. He was mostly focused on the papers. And really, he realized that he didn’t know many things about Kleimann. All he knew was that he did magical research, that he had a penchant for strange experimentation, and that he liked to tease and mock him as he masturbated him to completion. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know you’re fantasizing about someone, boy. Do try to be careful. You don’t want to strengthen this association, do you?”

“What, I can’t use my spank bank while I have an old fucking wizard fingering my asshole?” He asked, irate.

“Well, I’d imagine I’m more than enough to satisfy.”

Piece of shit. Ranzal _hated_ how he got under his skin, especially because he had _such_ a way with his fingers. If a woman could do what this man was doing to him now, he’d wife her up and get her pregnant on the spot. He’d take that girl and he’d make her his over and over again, relish her fingers up his ass.

….Louise had strong fingers.

The thought of her being kinky like this drove him over the edge, and he felt raunchy.

Fully spent, the two men cleaned up and drank a bit of liquid.

But with orgasms came clarity of thought, and Ranzal saw an opportunity for himself. An opportunity to know who the fuck had the gall to give Kleimann the information he had asked for. “Say…” He had to play this well. Drink water. Poker face. “…Your papers are kind of messy, ain’t they?”

“They are, yes. I’ve just had to review a lot of correspondence lately. I’m afraid I’m getting behind on my organizational formatting.” He sounded genuinely displeased by that. Good. “Why?”

“Welll…” He shrugged. “I dunno, if you ever need help organizin’ that shit, I mean, I could lend a hand.”

Kleimann leaned forward. “Are you _offering_ to help me?” He grinned, kept on leaning forward. “Why? What little fairy put that thought into your head?”

“Oh, stop it. Just tryn’a be nice, is all. You’ve had yer fingers up my ass for a few days now. Can’t fuckin’ go back from that…” And he couldn’t, could he? Even if Louise one day magically came to his door naked and asked if she could play with daddy’s ass, Kleimann would always be before her. Ugh, it was frustrating. He’d have to work on disassociating this experience with the memory of Kleimann altogether before he tried to make a move and get her strong hands around his cock. 

“So, you feel like you got to help me because of our current relationship?”

He scowled. “We don’t got no relationship, you pervert.”

Kleimann snickered. “I know, I know.”

He’d give a bit more ‘credibility’ to his request. “Someone just said that ya don’t get to work with a mage every day, and I dunno,” Ranzal shrugged. “Maybe I can learn _something_ from your weird ass. Might as well take advantage of ya while this arrangement is goin’ on, I guess.”

Kleimann leaned back. Appraised him for a moment. Ranzal thought about his options. If Kleimann said no, well, he’d probably find another way to find out what he wanted. And it wasn’t the end of the world, either way. That helped his poker face to feel even more natural. He didn’t have any reason to actually care. And that was fucking perfect.

“I certainly appreciate the offer. Sure.” Ranzal nodded, drank some water. “You can help tomorrow. I’m sure you must be exhausted after my ministrations, eh?”

Ranzal scratched his face with his middle finger. “Don’t push it, old man.”


	6. Morons, Witches and Confidentiality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranzal would feel much more confident about reading through Kleimann's things if people didn't keep on calling him a moron for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought I was dead, probably. But nope. I was just chewing things over. Planning where this story's gonna go.

“Wooo!!” Kleimann’s deranged laughter added to the cacophony of burning stones. His hat had been blown off his head, and his hair looked singed at the ends, pushed back by the force of the explosion. “Looks like our little experiment failed, didn’t it?” 

Ranzal was not much better. When he coughed, some of the soot covering his face puffed out into the air, dirtying it further. His own hair felt weird on his head. He grumbled and hurriedly wiped his face with his hands. Eugh. “Guess so.”

The mage bounced on his feet like a little boy, clasping his hands together. “Well, such is the pursuit of knowledge, my boy! Now hurry and pick up the cauldron from the center of the experiment site. We’re launching it again.”

Ranzal looked over at the mess of broken stones that just moments ago had some magic doodads written on them with chalk. In the middle of the broken floor was a pot--or to be more precise, its remains. Bent and twisted metal had replaced the receptacle which had housed the mixture of ingredients Kleimann had cobbled together. “Sure thing, bossman…” He moved, feeling as though the explosion had set him where he had stood, and that he was breaking away from a thin layer of ash that had solidified around his shoes.

This had probably not been Ranzal’s brightest idea.

It was his fault. Knowing that Kleimann had his medical records had been an itch that had been prickling his mind for a while now. Originally, it had only been a suspicion. A mere conspiracy theory in his head. Ranzal was friends with a few of the healers in the Halidom, and in his travels he had learned the most basic of basic bits of knowledge for how to treat certain ailments. As the days had turned into weeks, he’d begun to think about Kleimann’s experimental design. Was this man really that good of a mage, to know how to treat his body this well?

The memory of Kleimann’s first outing on the battlefield, where he had caused an explosion of shadow mana so large that it left him momentarily deaf, would always make him shiver retroactively.

But still, the small question had lingered in his head. How the hell did this man know his body so well? And two weeks ago, when Kleimann had been ‘draining excess mana’ from Ranzal (he tried not to think about it too much, because it would cause his cheeks to flare, and Ranzal was known for blushing hard) he’d seen his medical files.

So, sure, he’d had the _excellent_ idea of offering to give Kleimann a hand around the lab. 

It was supposed to have been a simple thing. Do some weird magicky things with this witchman, snoop around whenever he went out to collect materials, and then give whoever had been _stupid_ enough to give Kleimann his information a piece of his goddamned mind. And yeah, there was also the possibility of discovering some juicy dirt on the older mage. Just the thought of having something-- _anything--_ to hold over that bastards’ head would’ve been so satisfying. It would make all this weird bullshit worth it.

Ranzal should’ve thought things through a bit more.

He was on the larger side of the Halidom’s public opinion when it came to Kleimann. A weirdo, a creep, kind of strange with his mask on, does weird things in his lab (was _he_ now one of those weird things? Oh fuck, no). But being the man’s lab lackey had given him an up-close-and-personal vantage point of observation.

“Ah, there you are, my pretties.” Kleimann coo’ed, and Ranzal turned his head to see the man tickle a set of disembodied green tentacles. “Who’s gonna help daddy with his work today? You are! Oh yes you are, oh yes yes yes…” The tentacles wiggled around as if they could respond to those specific words. “Daddy’s gonna _blow_ you _up_ and it’s going to be _so_ good!”

Kleimann wasn’t just a creep with a lab. He was a goddamned maniac with an explosion fetish.

He had, surprisingly, not been the first to use the exact term. If memory served, Ifran had used it after Kleimann had caused an avalanche of rocks to crush a horde of fiends once, and had celebrated by shooting blasts of magic into the sky (attracting more fiends, incidentally). “It’s like he’s got a _fetish_ for blowing shit up!”

Oh, how right he'd been.

His routines now consisted of exercising with Kleimann for his mana experiment, helping him around the lab three days a week (save for whenever Kleimann or him had to be called to duty outside the castle’s walls), and getting ‘extractions’ at night. Really, it wouldn’t seem like too much of an addition to an outside observer, but helping Kleimann during the day was starting to obscure all his other activities. 

The man’s brand of magic was a savage one. He liked to use needles to prod and collect readings from samples. He was fond of probing whatever small fiends he had been able to capture and torturing them until he could extract their essences, which he would use for other experiments that would almost certainly end with a loud _boom_ and Ranzal cleaning up the goddamned floor. The way he tended to smile (‘merely an unconscious tick’ Kleimann had assured him) when he dissected specimens gave Ranzal the feeling of being in a horror story dreamed up by a sadistic bard--and yes, the way the glows of his jars lit his face up only added to the quiet horror.

The mercenary had started to keep count of things. Prepare any sacrificial slabs or test tubes, bring out whatever materials Kleimann needed (ignore any weird smells to save himself a lecture about whatever fucking thing he was carrying), wait for the almost-inevitable explosion, and relay his observations as a secondary observer.

God, it was like he’d _asked_ Illia herself to give him a new source for headaches. “Make sure to calibrate the scales, or else we’ll have a scare like the last time. Don’t forget the readings I’m giving off. Keep a close eye on the color of the sample. Are you wearing the lab coat I gave you? Do you want chemical burns? Then put the lab coat on. Stand BEHIND the circle safety line or _I just might_ get another cadaver to experiment with! Clean up the floor, scrub the test tubes. Feed the tadpoles.”

Ifran chewed on an apple as Ranzal, recounting his troubles, lay on the ground. “Wow.”

“I know, right?” He flicked his hand up.

“I can’t believe it.” Murmured Hawk, who was leaning forward.

“Literally, he’s _such_ a prick.”

“No, no, no.” Ifran shook his head. Ranzal turned to him, scowled at the small grin threatening to grow on his face. “Like, ok--we all _knew_ Kleimann was a prick. But what I’m just _stumped_ on is that you chose to help him. Can’t believe this is what you’re doing instead of drinking with us, man!” He made a gesture. “I thought we were tight, like coins in a coin wrapper.”

“Ain’t my goddamned fault, man! I’m tryinna find out who the hell sold me out!” He countered, leaning on his side. 

“Uh, you haven’t _asked_ the medical bay?” Hawk offered. “You _thought_ of that, right?”

“Of course I did!!” He shouted. As if he were _that_ stupid. The memory came up in his mind, and he exhaled through his teeth, a little embarrassed. “Hildegarde told me to…” Hawk and Ifran leaned forward. “...she told me that this was my punishment from Illia, that She was handing me to Kleimann to make me change my ways.” He left out that she had called him, in no uncertain terms, a sinful lost lamb (somehow, when she said it, it made him feel like a brat).

When Hawk and Ifran burst out laughing, he chucked apples at both of them, and stormed off when they caught them perfectly in their hands.

This had been a _shitty_ idea.

As the days passed, Ranzal would remember the words that Kleimann had told him when they had first spoken about his experiment. That he didn’t gossip, but that others might. It would seem that the residents of Euden’s Halidom, while loyal to their Prince, retained all their previous traits of character. And while no one would ever gossip about Euden (because it was _Euden_ ), it was soon clear that someone as low as Ranzal didn’t get that type of consideration. He didn’t necessarily expect it, of course. He was just one of the guys, at the end of the day. But pretty soon, it had spread around the castle that he was not only going to Kleimann’s lab on the regular, but that he was voluntarily helping him.

Ranzal did his best to smooth things over, to retain his dignity. He flicked out his best poker faces, gave the most basic explanations for why things were the way they were. Kleimann, surely finding some light in his grubby little heart, did not rat him out for the liar that he was and exposed the fact that his runes weren’t just for an ‘experimental strength buff’. But the mad magician liked to poke fun at Ranzal when they worked together, and it drove him up a wall.

“Ranzal, do be a dear and fetch the phosphorous flakes, would you?” He giggled. “Or does that _bother_ you?”

Ordinarily, Ranzal would whip around with a sassy retort full of obscenity (Kleimann was fully aware of his usual way of talking), but Sinoa was present at that moment, and he just nodded and whipped up a quick hand. 

“Kleimann, maybe tone it down?” She offered. God, why couldn’t he have gotten stuck with her? He’d give anything to have her fingers up his ass, anything to have her be the one to drive him over the edge for the sake of her magical career. She was pretty, she was smart, she was kind--. 

(and, as she had very kindly told him the first time he ever put the moves on her, a solid lesbian)

No, instead the person that was regularly making him shoot ropes of cum was a man that enjoyed tearing preserved flesh and captured specimens. “Why? I was perfectly content to just have an assistant. _He’s_ the one who told the world about how much he hates it.”

Oh, goddamned son of a bitch. He’d let him have it that night when his fingers were in his ass. And Ranzal did insult Kleimann that night, did let him have it. But tearing someone a proverbial new one was somehow less effective when they were pleasuring you with _wickedly magic_ fingers. Calling someone a bastard in the middle of a moan just didn’t have the same kick, now did it?

(Again, why was Kleimann so _fucking good_ at making him cum?)

To make things worse, Kleimann, somehow, someway, was able to glean ‘ _gargantuan_ amounts of data’ from his experiments. He said every explosion and fizzle put him one step closer to doing what he wanted to do. To Ranzal, it all looked like he was making shit up as he went along, that he was just using Euden’s money and buying materials for the hell of it. But he kept submitting reports to the Prince of his progress, kept smiling at him whenever they passed in the hallways and getting compliments.

Ranzal brought it up with his Prince once, when the memory of Kleimann’s stupid grinning face had caused him to whiff an attack and land on his ass. He took the embarrassment of Euden saving his ass, swallowed it whole, and asked if he could air out some grievances. 

“Don’t mean to start gossip, chief. S’just--is Kleimann _actually_ doin’ good things with yer cash?” 

Prince Euden had this expression on his face that made Ranzal feel so, so conflicted. He looked so serious, and yet, so innocent. Just like that day where he’d taken him to a tavern and taught him how to blend in with common folk to get information, so eager to learn, and so, so woefully underprepared for the real world. It was like that with every brat that grew up rich, wasn’t it? The only thing that made him different than any other pompous rich son of a bitch was that Ranzal knew first-hand that Euden was, despite all his wealth, a genuinely good guy. “Thank you for being so concerned, Ranzal. But Kleimann _is_ a good wizard. I’ve seen him work myself.” 

“He’s just mad because he’s his lab lackey!” Notte piped up, floating around in the air, giggling. The fairy companion of his Prince, which always accompanied him, even in battles, was carrying a fiend fang. She wiggled her eyebrows at Ranzal, and the man twitched because he had no idea how to handle such a mischievous little thing like her. “Drinking’s bad!”

Ranzal bared his teeth. He’d never actually hurt her, but God, if she were just his size, the headlocks he’d put her in… “Watch your mouth, little fairy. Wouldn’t wanna make me mad, now, would ya?”  
  
  


“Eep! The lab lackey’s mad! The lab lackey’s mad!” She zwooped away, burying herself in Luca’s shiny hair, sticking her tongue out.

“Notte, don’t say things like that.” Ever the peacekeeper, Euden put up his right hand and gave the fairy a disapproving look. She wilted a bit and murmured an apology. The Prince smiled a smile so pure that all of Ranzal’s lingering complaints (against Kleimann or Notte) melted in the back of his throat. “Why don’t you ask him to explain what he’s doing more? Really, it’s _so_ interesting!” 

He couldn’t counter those excited eyes, could he? No. No he could not.

Luca, who had not been within the area of effect of Euden’s innocent smile, made a noise. “My Prince, you think _all_ of us are interesting.”

He had said that with the full amount of respect that Euden deserved. But of course, Ranzal was under the effect of his winning smile, and cocked his eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, and that’s why we _love_ him.” 

“Yeah, cuz Euden’s the BEST!!” Notte flew back to her prince and hugged his face. 

Euden had chuckled, scratched the back of his head, and said thanks. Later, before going down for his ‘extractions’ (as if Kleimann couldn’t have picked a worse term), Ranzal apologized for jumping onto Luca as he had done. “Hey, I get you. I’d die for that kid in a heartbeat.”

Euden was, in many respects, the glue that held this whole operation together. 

Everyone in the Halidom was loyal to him, everyone respected him, and just like he had said before, everyone loved him. It was a combination of Euden’s natural charm, his skills with a sword and his words, and the honest mission that drove him forward.  
  
  


For that reason, Ranzal stuck around.

Not because Kleimann technically had him under an honor contract. Not because he secretly loved the boost of power he got from switching between wind and shadow (even if the maneuver did tire him out faster). And _certainly_ not because Kleimann was _ridiculously good_ at ‘extracting mana’ from Ranzal. No, the reason why he was pushing himself like he was, was for one reason and one reason only.

He would make himself stronger for Euden, because Euden was the one person in the entire world, aside from himself, that he trusted and believed in whole-heartedly. For that innocent blonde twerp, he’d move mountains. For the promises he made, for the man that he was.

….Of course, that didn’t mean that Ranzal was above snooping around other people. Or going through their documents. After all, those people weren’t Euden, so at the end of the day, fair game.

Despite always proclaiming to be attached to his lab (and having noted that as a reason why he shouldn’t ever be asked out to drink), Kleimann exited his lab often. Ingredients and materials did not gather themselves, and specimens needed to be caught. This was a process that Kleimann asked Ranzal for help in the first few days of his time as his assistant (he would never call himself his lab lackey), but he’d purposely flubbed his performance to the point where Kleimann sat him down, smiled, and jovially asked him to let the material gathering to a ‘certified professional’.

Ranzal wasn’t sure why Kleimann hadn’t called him a freaking moron right then and there. They had been alone, after all.

But that didn’t matter. Ranzal had played his cards right, and suddenly, there existed points in time during the day where he was alone in Kleimann’s lab. 

His official job was to prepare things for the next experiment. Clean vials, set up test tubes and burners, all that stuff that just seemed so clunky. Who knew that mages got their iconic back hunches for a reason? But it all had to be done, and since Ranzal was apparently a terrible hunter (wink wink), it was his job to do it. And he made sure to do this part well, of course. Sure, the merc couldn’t hunt, but he sure could clean and organize. He suspected that Kleimann got some sort of satisfaction from knowing that he was scrubbing and cleaning and moving things (after all, he was a meat head by his standards), so it wasn’t a bad plan.

Ranzal, over the span of a few days, had grown efficient in his cleaning work. 

This had not been an easy feat. Kleimann’s lab was the very image of everything that mages were rumored to do. The first day he’d worked with him, the mercenary almost had a heart attack when he’d turned around to see a wolf’s brain floating in some weird fluid. It had very quickly become clear to Ranzal that Kleimann had as much of a fetish for explosions as he did for playing and _talking_ to body parts (that sometimes moved as if to answer back). Getting accustomed to the ‘scenery’ of this place hadn’t been fun at all, but Ranzal had pushed through, and he was now able to largely ignore the vials of eyes, gizzards, and fluids.

See, if you work someplace and they give you cleaning duty while they’re away, you can snoop around--so long as you do your job and actually clean, of course. That was why he had to get so good at cleaning, so efficient at his work. By the end of the first week, he’d been able to give himself 15 minutes of snooping before he had to return things to where they were and pretend that he was sweeping the floor like a good little assistant. In a sense, being obstinate with Kleimann before was paying off. Ranzal wasn’t a country bumpkin by any stretch, a fact that he hid from the mage to make him do as little work as possible. He couldn’t just read and write--he could read and write _well_ \-- and in the world they lived in, that was an ability reserved for those who were either ridiculously lucky, or born into wealth.

Yes, it was the one vestige of his past that he couldn’t really ever part with (how could he forget how to read without hitting himself too hard?). And it did mark him in some ways. But there was some very sweet sense of justice in taking the money of his bastard old man from all those years ago, and using it for things that would make him blanche in shock. A son of Saint Lotier, rummaging through a mage’s precious documents? Maybe don’t count your chickens before they hatch, idiot.

And boy, did Kleimann have _documents_. Folders upon folders of papers were stuffed with varying degrees of neatness into his filing cabinets and in between some of the vials. It was hard to get through all these papers--after all, Kleimann had never taught him his organization system. Not much of a damned system, if it was taking him this long to find the file he needed. In the present, Ranzal reached for a folder that was nestled between a vial full of green goo and another vial with two purple eyes with greyed-out pupils (these ones did make him squirm a little bit). 

The man turned to look at the door. 

Kleimann had gone out half an hour ago to gather ferva flower petals to use as a catalyst for his latest experiment. The fiend it was to be used on kept growling and gurgling in its cage, subdued and utterly seething with hatred. Ranzal knew, from all the rambling the mage had done, that this would take him probably to the end of the afternoon, since that species of flower was rare around this area. He was more than confident in his ability to fend for himself, and had let Ranzal stay behind. Ranzal had been organizing things for the past hour, and had been searching for the document he needed for an hour more. Based on the time, he was still safe enough to be snooping around like he was. However, when Kleimann returned, he’d surely want to examine Ranzal’s mana reserves. The mercenary found himself feeling hot, and felt the familiar feeling of tightness in his pants. Fuck. His runes were running out of juice. Kleimann would need to restock on some of the solvents for the mana paint soon…

...But that was a suggestion to be made later. 

The mercenary put down the folder on the desk, breathed in, focused his power. He felt the flow of his mana within his body, felt the way that it was pooling around his dick, making him shiver slightly in anticipation for pleasure. He would not get distracted now, however. The mercenary took off his lab coat, stepped into the middle of the room, and began to do some hand-combat drills, pushing out mana with every punch and flick of his arms. It wouldn’t cure this erection, only stall it for a while. Long enough for him to check one last folder, put it away, and wait for Kleimann to get back.

He watched as his mana, tinged purple, flicked out of his body as he moved.

It was powerful. He was powerful.

Yes...This experiment had given him something he’d desperately wanted. He took a deep breath as his fist blazed with purple energy, and savored the sensation. Yes, he had to be honest here and give Kleimann some credit. This was not a bad thing at all.

But he released the tension in his hand, felt his mana quelled inside of him, and walked back to the folder. Even if this was good, even if he had gotten power that he had wanted to protect Euden and his ideals--even if Kleimann really was a great wizard and was just insane to boot--the knowledge that someone had given Kleimann the go-ahead for this shit irked him.

The idea that someone had given Kleimann his medical files pissed him off. He’d take whoever it had been, and he’d--

His eyes zeroed in on the words written on the paper. This was it, the document that certified the transfer of a copy of his medical files into Kleimann’s hands…

….

...Ranzal closed the folder, put it away, and huffed.

Well, that was fucking something, wasn’t it?

The good thing about getting mana extractions is that it’s easy to just ignore things, to melt into the pleasure, to let a grubby old wizard stick his finger up your ass and jerk your cock. And that night, he did exactly that. He let Kleimann extract his mana, let him gauge his progress with the awakening of his shadow mana, and neatly stored the information he had obtained in the back of his head, tucked it nice and safe as Kleimann teased and joked about when he moaned in pleasure, and gave him all his usual back-talk.

“You seem a little frustrated.” Kleimann commented after their session, some of Ranzal’s warm semen on his hands.

Ranzal huffed, sweaty, and rolled his eyes. “Just can’t believe I’m being milked every night.”

The mage chuckled. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention to my warnings.” Ranzal drank his water. “I’d say we’re reaching a bit of a plateau with your progress, but it’s nothing to be worried about. Just keep developing your shadow reflexes as you’ve been doing.”  
  
  


“Sure, sure.”

That night, Ranzal couldn’t sleep.

He stood up, put on his shoes (the floors were deathly cold at night) and walked out of his room. The Halidom during the day was full of voices, full of hustle and bustle as the sun’s rays would filter in through the stain-glass windows. But at night, the atmosphere was completely different. It was so quiet that one could hear the winds gently moving outside the castle. He had to be careful not to wake everybody up, and moved so that his footsteps would be as quiet as possible for him.

As he walked through the corridors and entered the throne room, he saw her. Bathed in moonlight that streamed down gently from the windows, Cleo stood alone. She was an interesting girl. Gifted with the long life of a Sylvan, sometimes she acted more like a mother than a teammate (both Ranzal and Luca could attest that she was a strict disciplinarian). But she had hints of this mysticism about her. Perhaps it was her abilities with magic, or her age, but she seemed to see the world in a slightly different way. 

Ranzal didn’t know how to approach her without disturbing her, for she was sitting underneath the beam of moonlight, her eyes closed, and her sleeping robe dressing her like some fancy painting.

He didn’t have a desire for her like he had for other women in the Haildom (after all, she was their resident mother), but in that moment he felt like he was seeing something beautiful that he shouldn’t see. Something a bit private, like a promise one would make to himself after a tough battle when the winds were blowing just right.

Then she opened her eyes, and they connected with his. “Ranzal. You’re up.” A smile graced her features. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Y-Yeah.” He said. Moved out of the shadows and into the moonlight of the throne room. “How many people are on watch tonight?”

“Six of us.” She answered. Cleo did not look tired. As expected, she had prepared for her turn on the rounds and slept a little early (he knew her dislike of coffee very well). “Why?”

“Do you think we could talk?”

Cleo was not an unintelligent woman by any stretch of the imagination. She had probably seen that Ranzal was serious in his request, even accounting for the fact that at night he tended to replace his usually boisterous way of talking and walking with a quieter way of being. That was why they had relocated to the first wall that surrounded the Halidom, closest to the castle. The winds blew softly over the grass, painted off-white at the tips by the light of the moon. Cleo knocked on the door to the tower, and after a few moments, it opened to reveal a groggy Philia.

“Cleo? Ranzal?” She rubbed her eyes. “Whazzappenin’...?” 

“Hey, girl.” The mercenary waved his hand. She was a little bit of a klutz, but man, Ranzal doubted that even Euden would be able to resist calling her cute if he saw her hiding her sleepy face in her cloak like that. 

“I’ve come to relieve you of your watch for the tower.” Cleo said, her wand casting a warm glow on both their faces. “If you want, you can turn in.” 

“Me? Nahhh, I’m...I’m fine…” Somehow, the girl was able to doze off while leaning on the door.

“Um…” Ranzal didn’t know what to do.  
  
“Philia, darling.” With a gentle hand, Cleo touched her face. That woke her up. “It’s alright. You did a lot of fighting today. You can take an early night.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She said, a little more alert. She genuinely seemed saddened by the prospect of having to be saved by her senior (even if it was to get a private place to chat).

“Not sleepin’ helps no one.” Ranzal offered. “If yer gonna protect Euden, ya gotta be well-rested, right?”

She blushed. He didn’t know why. Everyone and their mom knew that Philia was head-over-heels crazy in love with their Prince (even though that love had been born the day they’d met). She was committed, energetic, and always asked for opportunities to prove herself. Even Hawk and Joe, who were naturally more solitary men, tended to give her tips and watched over her progress. “Ranzal!” Cleo smacked him gently.

“It’s ok.” She smiled. See? Everyone knew. What was the harm? “Thank you, Cleo. And thanks, Ranzal.”

She left, the grass parting as she ran to the door of the Halidom. And they watched her go for a moment before entering the tower and climbing up the spiral stairs.

“She’s really so young.” Cleo commented as they climbed. “I almost dislike that she’s fighting.”  
  
  


“Know what you mean.” What was the harm in everyone knowing that she loved Euden? Well, there was no harm at all. But there was the case that Euden was, very obviously and very plainly, not interested whatsoever in a romantic relationship with her. In a way, Philia was unlike many young girls he had known, for they prefer to keep their crushes secret. But wasn’t that also a fault of youth, to blurt one’s feelings without properly testing the waters? It would be improper to say that she had checkmated herself since love didn’t work that way. But she had made her reputation from day 1, and her lack of any incredible talents (save for her incredible work ethic) had added to it. She wasn’t a straggler nor a burden, but she was the girl that loved the prince and sometimes missed her shots, the girl that ran a little too fast sometimes, the girl that didn’t know how to pace herself just yet.

Weren’t all the young people here like that? “But they know what they signed up for. And we’ve got her back.” And perhaps that was one of the advantages of being such an honest person, wasn’t it? Even someone like Ranzal, if the opportunity dared present itself, would take a spear to the stomach if it meant keeping that dumb girl safe for one more day.

“Right.” And he knew Cleo felt the same way. 

They opened the hatch of the tower, climbed out, and spread. 

The tower was 25 feet tall, had a diameter of 7 feet. Enough space for two, maybe three archers. From here, Ranzal could see up to 350 feet to the edge of the bridge that connected the Halidom to the rest of the forest, for the moon gave clear visibility that night. Only a few clouds, very little chance of rain. There was no one else in the field. Only a few of the buildings that they had built over the course of this long adventure. “Not a lot of people on watch, tonight.”

“No. Perhaps we should increase those numbers.” Cleo was standing next to Ranzal, her cloak swaying softly in the wind. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah. I don’t get cold with the wind like this.” He grinned. “ ‘Sides, I can see why y’all ain’t too bothered. Things have been a bit quiet lately. Just can’t let our security get too lax.”

She nodded.

Why was he stalling?

Ranzal stared at the sea of grass before him and Cleo, felt the cold wind run through his hair, his clothes, did not shiver because he was stronger than that and because the wind wasn’t that bad--and he thought. 

Or, he had begun to think, because Cleo deftly picked up on his indecision and turned to him. “What was it that bothered you?”

He smirked. “Too quiet, huh?”

“A little. It’s somewhat unlike you.” She chuckled softly into her hand.

Ah, this wasn’t good, was it? He’d planned to give whoever had sold him out a real good talking to. Maybe scowl at them, ask them where they got off giving Kleimann of all people access to his medical files. But he’d met Cleo so early on. Almost a year ago, wasn’t it, that he met her? They’d done so much together. They had saved Luca’s village from Dyrenell’s dirty claws, recruited the Greatwyrms to Euden’s cause, fought against the possessed King Aurelius (may he rest in peace) only to have Euden’s sister fall prey to...whatever evil it was that had possessed Euden’s father.

And now, after all this time, they were in an uncertain period. The world a mystery as Dyrenell reconstituted itself under Zethia’s iron fist. No one really sure of how they would proceed.

He couldn’t be rude to this woman who had saved him more times than he could count, who had stitched his hand back together twice.

Ranzal turned around, sat down against the walls of the tower. Cleo did the same. “...You know how Kleimann’s doing his experiment? How I’m helping him with it?”

She nodded.

“I erm…wanted to know why you gave him my files.”

The woman cocked her head. “Why?” He nodded. “Well, he was going to conduct an experiment on a living person, and he needed to know their medical history.” But then Cleo shook her head. “Hold on. Why do you know that _I_ signed off on those papers?”  
  
  


“Uh…” Ranzal was a smooth talker most of the time. He just had a way with words. His muscles were big and his fighting ability was a cut above most, but his wits had gotten him out of the really bad situations in his life. Even he was aware that no one could depend on their power alone to survive out in the world. A word here and there had put him outside of the line of fire many times. 

But Cleo had a way of looking at people weird. She used it often to make people confess if they had eaten more than their share of food, or if they were hiding medical symptoms to be tough for whatever reason (Ranzal was guilty of both of those). “That type of transaction does carry names for posterity’s sake, but it’s supposed to be anonymous.” In the moonlight, her purple eyes looked deeper than usual. More probing. God, Ranzal wanted to jump right off that tower. “Why would you feel the need to get that information?”

Cleo sat, directly facing Ranzal. The moon lit up three-quarters of her face, and her hood blew off in the gentle wind. “Tell. Me. Why. You. Violated. Our. Protocol.”

She was a great cook, a gracious healer, and a wonderful friend. But Cleo ran a tight goddamned ship, and as the first healer of Euden’s forces, she liked to proclaim herself as the de-facto leader of the medical bay. Any who worked with her sought her as the leader, and she naturally assumed the position. It was a perfect fit. And of course, Ranzal had gone against her cleanliness and her order of their Halidom by snooping and by asking and by probing.

He’d messed up, hadn’t he?

“...Promise this stays between us?” She nodded.

So, after a moment of regaining himself under her intense motherly gaze, he told her of his troubles, from the beginning.

He told her of the way that he had lost to Kleimann at the Windwyrm’s Gout, how the wizard pulled one from under his nose. He told her of how he’d messed up Kleimann’s experiment, how he’d created an association between his fighting and sexual drives because Kleimann hadn't told him anything. And he spared no detail about how annoying, how insipid, how utterly grating Kleimann could be on his nerves.

“...and as if that wasn’t enough, he told me to ‘stop dawdling’, like I didn’t have my arms full of shit!” He rolled his eyes. 

“Ranzal, I understand Kleimann is a tough cookie to chew on, but you’re getting off track.”

After apologizing, he summarized his plans. How he snooped around for days, until finally getting the file he’d wanted. 

“...And that’s why you wanted to talk.”

“Yep.”

She nodded to herself.

“So, to summarize, for my own sake. You _dragged_ Kleimann out of his lab, had him arm wrestle you, lost a bet _you_ made on your own to embarrass him, _didn’t read_ his experiment, have been…” she hushed a little. “...’extracting mana’ from your body for weeks, then saw your medical files in the air, rummaged around his desk and drawers for _two weeks_ , all so you could find out that it was I who gave him medical files which he _needed_ to make sure you didn’t _die_ from his magic.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I sound like some moron.”

Cleo exhaled, dropped her head for a moment. “Ranzal, you aren’t _just_ a moron.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re the king of morons.”

“E-Excuse me?!” He covered his mouth. Too loud. “ _What?!_ ” He hissed.

She was absolutely serious. “I say that with all the love in the world. I do.”  


Ranzal put his hands up. Smiled because he honestly couldn’t think of any other expression to put on. “Ok, ok, I know that my actions haven’t been the most ‘planned out’, but you gotta give me some credit. I spied under that man’s nose for two weeks and he didn’t even know!” He rolled his eyes. “Some master mage _he_ is.”

“Ranzal, that’s not the point!” She hissed. “Every single thing that’s happened to you in the past month and a half has been the result of you just charging forward! Even _I_ can tell.” She cast light just to make sure they could see each other. Perhaps she had forgotten to under the weight of his story. “I don’t have it right now, but I read every bit of Kleimann’s project plan. Every page. It’s _meticulous_ work that he’s doing. There were clear warning signs that you needed to deal with yourself correctly.” She raised an eyebrow. “...You can read.”

“Um, yes.” He felt like a child being scolded.

“Ranzal. I’m stating a fact. You can _read_. I know you can!” She brought her hand up to her face and then opened it, flicking it out. “You don’t need to be some genius to understand Kleimann’s manuscript. And there’s no reason why you couldn’t have had him explain what you didn’t get!”

“Oh, I told him I couldn’t read.”

Cleo blinked.

“Yeah. He fuckin’ pissed me off when we were talkin’ the first day and called me a reprobate. Acted like I couldn’t put two and two together.” Ranzal leaned forward a little. “Listen, I know I’m a bit of a klutz. But that goddamned _witch_ likes to dig into me way too much.”

Cleo put her hands up again. Took a breath. “Ok.” She slowly put them back on her lap. “Ok. That’s still not the brightest thing. But let’s unpack this.”

He leaned back. “Hell yeah, let’s do that instead.” He didn’t come here to get chewed out, whether or not he was or was not a moron (and no, he _wasn’t_ one). 

Kleimann just... rubbed everything on his nose, all the time.

“I will grant you this. Kleimann is notorious for his attitude problems, and he can’t mesh well with others. He certainly is a very particular person, and even _I_ have had instances where I would like nothing more than to tug on his beard and cut it off.” She said that with enough intensity to make Ranzal feel like she thought it was an effective threat. Then again, there were many men who were proud of their beards (and even one woman too, that he knew once. Real crazy fighter), so she wasn’t exactly wrong for it. “I’ll even grant that, yes, the man _should_ have made _sure_ to not let you walk out of that room without drilling his plan into your thick skull.”

“Hey.” He grumbled. Then he sighed. “Ok. I’m sensing a big ‘but’ coming.”

“And you’re absolutely right to. Ranzal, how can you call him a witch?” She crossed her arms. 

Ranzal froze in place. Blinked.

…

“...That’s what you’re mad about?” He chuckled. “I mean, yeah he ain’t a chick, but honestly it’s not the worst thing I’ve called him.”

For a moment, Cleo looked absolutely incensed, which was very strange and made Ranzal doubt himself. But then her face softened, and she moved to lean her back on the stone wall of the tower, about 3 inches from where Ranzal was. The mercenary turned, and it was his turn to sit up straight. 

“...Did I say something wrong just now?”

“No--well, yes. Very wrong, actually.” She gave him a bit of a thin smile. “But it’s not like you should know.” She looked up at the sky, up at the moon, which was being partially covered by one lonely cloud. 

“...Back during the time of Alberius, the founder of this kingdom, I was a young girl. I was gifted with a lot of raw magical ability, but I wanted to devote myself to tending the wounds of His Majesty and his soldiers. That’s what I thought I should do with myself, to thank the man who had given me a greater extension of my purpose.” She brought her hands together and opened them, revealing a bright purple light, yellow at the center. “You see, Ranzal, there’s a sort of ‘hierarchy’ of magical abilities. All of them can be practiced and mastered, but depending on what one does with the mana of the world, one is said to be closer to the Root.”

“The Root?” Had he ever heard that before?

_“Ah, Goddess damn me. It feels like the Root is farther every day…”_ Kleimann wasn’t one to usually complain. His explosions were his inspiration. But once, there hadn’t been an explosion, nor had their material liquified into essence or turned into a crystal. It just shriveled up in the cauldron, burned, and gave off a horrible stench. It had been such a shock to see the man in low spirits that Ranzal hadn’t dared push anything--and soon enough he’d been back at his usual demeanor with another try, a slight modification that got results.

“Kleimann’s mentioned that before.” Ranzal nodded. “What is it?”

Cleo nodded too. “The Root is a concept within magic. It’s...basically the center of all magical thought, of all possible knowledge of the world. It’s a bit different than what someone like Ellisane does.” Her light turned blue, a color Elly wore a lot. “She works with faith in the Goddess. She devotes all of her energy, all of her background thoughts, to praying and to strengthening her beliefs. It’s a wonderful thing, I’d say. It’s asking Illia to help her with everything, to give her the strength to do all things.”

Ranzal knew of Ellisane’s faith very well. Once, when she’d seemed so unsure of herself, he’d suggested she find multiple things to believe in. It was all he could’ve said to her, of course. He himself wasn’t a very strong believer. In fact, there were more days than not where he was fairly certain there wasn’t anything like a god in the world he lived in. The Dragons were powerful, mighty in every respect, but he’d met and talked to many. They were as flawed and emotional and interested in life as sentient peoples were. Mym herself was a prime example, wasn’t she? He’d never forget how she had laughed at Ellisane during their hike up to meet Jupiter. They had thought that he hadn’t been listening, but he had been just close enough to do so. It had shaken him a bit. In a sense, there was the proof, wasn’t it? A Dragon, the creature that he had been taught to worship since a young age, laughing at the concept of the Illian religion! It was what he had suspected.

But if there was anyone who made the religion still seem like a legit thing, it was Ellisane. He wasn’t a fan of churches, and he barely ever prayed, but if she ever asked him to lend her a hand with a rosary, he wouldn’t say no. That’s just how good of a friend she was.

“It really is pretty.” He said at last. He didn’t shine like she did, with her smile full of faith. But he got his faith in things from people. That was what he fought for.

“However, faith is something that isn’t close to the Root. It is the surrender of one’s ambitions, one’s power. If you’d say ‘agency’, you could make a theological case for it.” And there it was, the thing that had made him feel weird about carrying a halo rosary as a young buck, just in the time where he had started to feel strange about a lot of the other aspects of his life. “If roots are things buried in the earth, the faith is up there, with the sun.”

There were stories of those who had sought the power of Illia and Elysium for themselves, who sought to challenge God and Goddess for their seats over Grastea.

All of those, of course, ended with them being burnt to a crisp.

“Back in the time of Alberius the Founder, people clung to their faith very desperately. And that’s a good thing, of course!” Cleo assured. Ranzal could not help but remember seeing Cleo and Ellisane praying together once, bathed in the light of midmorning. “But the Root doesn’t require faith.”

“It doesn’t?” He was confused. “Then, do mages not believe in God?”

“Well, that’s the stereotype. It’s not always true, but...” She trailed off. She had this very tough look on her face as she looked up at the sky. “The Root is all knowledge, all secrets. It is said that one can practice the Truest of Magics, that those that reach the Root could change the very world we walk on.” Her light turned purple again. “Everyone has mana inside them. It’s what makes up this world, it is the driving lifeblood of nature. And so, everyone uses it.” Ranzal flexed his fingers unconsciously. A small, small gust of wind blew at his navel. “But it is considered that among all the talents mana gives, melee fighting and body augmentation are the things that are farthest from the Root. Then after that,” her orb shrank a little, becoming denser. “There’s things like healing, basic manipulation of the elements.” Her orb shrank again, becoming very dense, almost solid in color. “And closest to the Root are things like divination, scrying, and complicated spellcasting.” She clasped her hands together and the orb disappeared with a small hum. “Mages, wizards, and sorcerers are said to be at this level of this inverted pyramid. They do things that play with more than just the body, or the surface-level waves of power from the world. They can move mountains, redirect rivers, make crops grow or wilt--and so many more things.”

“...” Ranzal didn’t speak for a moment. A younger him, a more impulsive him, would’ve been amazed at what he’d been told. Would’ve said something stupid. But he was through, for the moment, of acting with his gut, and thought about the information he’d been given. Remembered the way his father was always so close with the Priests of Saint Lotier. “...And those things are close to the Root, which is farther from faith.”

“The learning a Paladyn or a Priest does is very different from the learning that a mage does, even though they employ similar levels of mana control. Back during the time that Morsayati--” Cleo kept talking, but Ranzal felt a chill run through his blood at the mention of that name. Some words, some names, really were cursed. “rampaged through the land, people were convinced that straying from the path of faith, that losing the fires of belief in one’s heart, would invite the worst of destructions. And when people saw individuals with wands and staffs making wonders happen without particularly showy or powerful belief…” She was holding her hands together. “...The people,” she said, after a moment where she seemed to be trapped in her memories. “called them witches. If you look at the old scripts we used back in those days, the word is made up of the radicals of ‘low’, ‘angry’, and ‘head’. It was a name to refer to those who didn’t give the Goddess enough thanks for their powers.” Cleo turned to him, shrugging, smiling a rueful smile. “I had to heal a lot of soldiers who talked badly of their war mage brethren, as well as war mages who were hurt--not by Morsayati (a chill), mind you” The woman put up a finger then. “...but by their own comrades.”

“What?” Ranzal leaned forward, put his hands on the stones underneath for balance. They were cold, but rage was building up inside of his chest, and it kept him more than warm. “Why would they do that?!”

“Well, if Morsayati is attracted to the darkness of our hearts, and those who are not grateful for their gifts are missing the Light, then wouldn’t you find it logical to, if not try and dispose of them, put them in their place? Remind them of their folly, as much as it might take?” It wasn’t often that Cleo was angry. Ranzal thought that he’d seen her get angry at him just a few moments ago. But no, that did not compare to the quiet, simmering rage that burned behind those purple eyes. The Sylvan woman was a smart one, a kind one, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make faces like the one she was making now. 

“But _why_ didn’t Alberius the Founder do anything? Wasn’t that _bastard_ supposed to be a hero?! Why would he--” But then Ranzal stopped, because he had insulted Alberius. The man who Cleo often told stories of, whom she admired more than anyone else in the whole world. The man who all the Dragons remembered, who Migardsorm, his Patron Dragon, often whispered of inside his head when he carried him inside.

_That boy, your Euden, he’s so much like him, you know..._

_Make sure he lives, Ranzal. That is the mission I give to you. Do not take it lightly._

_“Yeah. Don’t gotta tell me twice. If Euden dies, you can have my head.”_

_My, a feisty bargain. But I’ll accept it. It’s the only fair thing._

“--Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, Cleo. I--”

Cleo shook her head. She wasn’t angry at him. Her eyes were dry, and she put her hand on Ranzal’s. “You’re so kind.” It was warm in the cold night wind. “And you are right. Real warriors, warriors who deserve respect, don’t hurt their own comrades for any reason.” Her smile shrank. “...Alberius wasn’t as lucky, or as naturally charming, as Euden. I’ll say that plainly. He had to work and dig through things which have fallen into the Prince’s lap, or which he seems to just manifest out of the air.” Yes. Everyone knew. Euden really was such a kind, special person. “When you’re leading an army--not just against a demon, but an army in general--you end up having to play a few roles. Those roles sometimes conflict with each other, and sometimes you have prioritize the cohesion of the whole unit at the expense of certain parts." The implication of such things weighed heavy on Ranzal's mind. Cleo continued. "Oh, don’t get me wrong, Alberius and I and other like-minded people made sure to appreciate our mages and spellcasters every chance we got. We made sure they got treated well, in ways that wouldn’t arouse too much jealousy, and I worked extra hard to heal their magic circuit pathways. But...sometimes, you just have to push forward.” She stopped smiling. “Even if your army has people who relish the fight more than the peace it’s supposed to win for them and their brethren.”

She looked up at the sky again. “In a way, I’m glad so much time has passed, and that I was gifted with the holy task of taking care of Lord Migardsorm for so long. I’ve been able to step into a much more modern world, where people aren’t so bull-headed.” Neferia, the great queen, had said something similar once. In passing, but Ranzal would never let himself forget how she looked at the sunset-lit trees, and remarked that for all that it hurt, that she was glad to be alive in this era. That she would live in the great happiness that these times offered for the sake of all who couldn’t live with her. It had been a statement that had made physical beauty seem irrelevant for a moment. Only the heart had mattered that afternoon. “But even today, there are people who don’t really trust mages. They may get paid well, but people don’t tend to trust what they don’t understand.”

“....” Ranzal looked up, whistled low. “...Well, don’t I feel like a sore sack of shit?”

“To be fair, Kleimann doesn’t make it easy.” She smiled a little. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder as she turned to look at him. “And he tends not to explain what he feels.”

“Moron.” Ranzal snickered. “...”

“...Are you ok with it?” Cleo asked him. “With the experiment, I mean.”

It was only natural that she’d ask. After all, he’d told her everything. “I mean, I can deal with a finger up the bum. No big deal.” He joked.

“Sex is sex, Ranzal.” He knew what she thought of casual flings. She wasn’t so hard-headed that she believed in something like saving herself for marriage, but she also didn’t view things as casually as people like him did. And that was fine, wasn’t it? Good to butt heads about the topic every once in a while. But she didn’t press on. Instead she asked him the big question. “If you feel weird about it, you _can_ stop, you know. Do you want to?”

And that was the rub, wasn’t it?

Yes, when Kleimann touched him, it felt fuckin’ good. Damned good. That man had made him cum more times than most of the finest hookers he’d had the pleasure of getting to know. Kleimann had magic fingers, and maybe it was his actual magic or maybe it was just that he knew how to touch a man just right, but it was a good time when Ranzal had to get his mana extracted. And wasn’t that all there was to it? He wasn’t gonna kiss the guy, he was just getting his rocks off, a good payment for all the shit he had to go through.

But why not stop?

It felt good, felt fucking incredible, but it wasn’t like the sex outweighed the negative aspects of working under Kleimann. The man was bossy, he was rude, he liked to make stupid jokes whenever his fancy tickled him. He was reckless in the lab. He ran Ranzal ragged (his own fault), he seemed to care very little for minor discomforts, and he would waste almost no opportunity to remind Ranzal that he wasn’t the most intelligent and learned sumna cum laude son of a bitch this side of the mountain range.

“...” Ranzal put one arm behind his head for support. The other arm, his right arm, he let out. Stretching his right hand out, he blocked the light of the moon part-way with his fingers, and stared at the way the light got cut by his skin. “...I’ll be honest with you. The ‘sex’, the work I gotta do for him--it evens out. I get to get my ear chewed off during the day, and get to nut at night. Ain’t a great thing, but it ain’t a horrible thing either. Like I said,” He made a flattening motion with his hand, which was dressed in wind mana. “Evens out.”

“...” Cleo didn’t say anything.

“...But I’m not gonna stop it.”

“Why not?”

If he were to be asked that question in a few hours, after the philosophical high of discussing slurs and historical pressures subsided, he might say that he wouldn’t leave an experiment halfway because his body would need to be treated either way. He might say that he feared some sort of whiplash, or that he didn’t understand what the possible repercussions of not training his shadow mana under the watchful gaze of a mage would be.

But right now, his mind zeroed in on a different answer.

His fingers became laced with shadows, purple streaks flowed out of his skin and around his palm and wrist. It almost seemed like a claw, but the shape coated his hand in a form-fitting way, and soon it was pulsing with the nether power. “I want to be strong.”

“Strength.” She said to herself. Quiet for a moment. Then she looked at his hand. Examined it. Was she surprised? Impressed? He couldn’t quite tell. When she touched his fingers, she didn’t flinch. “But you’re already so strong. Euden trusts you with everything.”

“That’s precisely why, Cleo. That kid--” No. He wasn’t no fucking kid. Euden was the seventh scion of Aurelius, and as far as he was concerned, the true heir to the Alberian throne. “--Euden trusts me. He sought me out, he fought me with all he had, and he’s shown me that royals aren’t all rich pieces of crap.” His hand became a tight fist, and his skin made a sound as he tightly grasped the air. “Euden’s dreams, his goals--he trusts me to help him achieve those. That’s why I have to become stronger. Stronger than I’ve ever been.”

He turned to her when she put her hand over his glowing fist, and met her eyes. “I’ve finally found someone I’d be happy to die for.”

Ranzal was fond of sleeping with women (and men if they got thrown onto the bed too). He was fond of seeking out girls in towns, of impressing them with his muscles, of hearing them gasp at the scars on his hands and arms. Of hearing their stunned silence which spoke volumes when he’d stand naked in their rooms, presenting his body and the scars that weren’t so easily seen in a tavern. He was fond of the way they grabbed him, of their gentle, callous-less fingers that ran through his hair, of the way they spoke sweet things to him and told him fun things, because they were fun and he was fun too. But he had learned quickly to never speak of things like duty and honor around common women. They would suddenly get this look in their eyes like they’d seen their mothers die before them. Some would grasp at his hands, beg him to be careful, beg him not to return. One had cried for him, for the fact that he had to get hurt like he did. Her tears, warm and undeserved, rolled on his naked skin.

Cleo did not pity him like that. 

She was kind, gentle, responsible. And she knew what could drive a man or a woman to take up a blade or a wand for someone else, to let their bodies be cut for the sake of another person. She had seen her fair share of darkness, had fought her fair share of monsters, and would not look at Ranzal with anything less than the respect he knew he deserved for those words which he would never in his life take back. He’d sooner die than say he didn’t mean what he said. 

No, Cleo simply let out a breath from her nose, smiled, and nodded. And he didn’t cry for her, or beg her not to go, or beg her to be careful, because the first thing was an insult, the second was an impossibility, and the third was obvious. She would die for her Prince too. 

And wasn’t that the truth for everyone in this castle? Even the youngest person here would jump for Euden, though he surely wouldn’t want them to (and that’s what made them all the more willing). That was also why Ranzal had to get strong. Euden’s dreams were tough to sell, carried very high prices and higher conditions. 

_“I know it’s crazy, and I know it might be insulting, but I am going to make sure no one dies.”_ He’d told him once, right after discovering the Halidom, after watching his sister be taken away by his father. _“We’re going to save my sister, all of us together. And we’re going to make sure this story has the happy ending it deserves.”_ He had smiled like a fool. _“We don’t need to sacrifice anyone.”_

If they were going to get that happy ending, Ranzal had to be strong. Strong enough to give his strength to the young ones. Strong enough to make them stand on their own two feet, to make them able to not only fend for themselves, but to thrive doing so. Little ones like Lowen and Sarisse and Maribelle--as far as he was concerned, they were his responsibility. And if anything other than their love of Euden was a universal trait, all the adults of the Halidom also saw the proper rearing of the children as their greatest charge.

“...Alright. I believe in you.” Ranzal bit the inside of his cheek just in case he was going to betray himself in front of this woman he respected so much. “But I do think you need to apologize to Kleimann.”

He dug into any emotional purchase he could find. Rolled his eyes extra hard, led out a bark of a laugh (quiet, of course). “Uh, yeah right! Like that’s ever gonna happen!”

“Ranzal, perhaps this may sound strange to you, but part of the reason you and Kleimann have all these difficulties is that both your standards for communication are…” She made a gesture. “...dog-shit poor.”

Ranzal covered his mouth with his fist, chuckled an honest chuckle, because Cleo was most certainly not someone who could simply curse and not turn the world upside down. She wasn’t built for it! She was the type of person who should never ever ever say something obscene. It was just too damn funny on her tongue. 

“Ha, ha, ha.” She fake-laughed. “...I’m serious though.”

Ranzal pushed air out of his mouth, sounding like a horse. He looked away, pretended to be annoyed. But he was calming down, and could look at the situation rationally.

He thought of someone actually hurting Kleimann for some bullshit reason like God. Of someone striking at him, hiding behind the name of Illia.

He closed his eyes to hide the anger that suddenly burned in them. “Fiiiine. I’ll fuckin’ tell the man I’m sorry for calling him a witch.”

Cleo smacked his arm. “AND for snooping around his files without permission.” As Ranzal pretended to rub the area (he wasn’t actually pretending, Cleo had a hell of a hand on her) where she’d struck, she went to open the latch of the watchtower. In a couple of hours, the sun would rise. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what’s happening with you and him. Your secret’s safe.”

Ranzal whipped to look at her. “Nothing's happening! God, you make it sound like we’re having sex.”

Cleo peeked out of the hatch. “Ranzal. He’s put his finger in your rectum.” She then shut it.

The mercenary stayed frozen for a bit before hurriedly opening the hatch and yelling down the stairwell. “He hasn’t fucking porked me yet! And I sure as hell ain’t gonna pork him! Get your mind out of the gutter!”

But Cleo was already opening the door, exiting the watchtower with a giggle that echoed all the way up to his burning ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, I'm not writing the idea of witch as an insult to mock any irl people who are witches. It's something for this story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE
> 
> This chapter takes place at the same time as the last chapter, establishing what Kleimann was doing during the time Ranzal was fucking around in the lab

Ranzal stood, his clothes off, quiet. He was facing Kleimann, the shadow of shame across his face, his naked body in a meek pose. “Hey, Kleimann. Can we talk?”

He took a deep breath. He could tell that something big was coming, and he cursed the idiot because he would’ve been fine bringing this up a couple of days from now.

But he turned fully towards the mercenary, frowning. “Ah, so you want to talk, finally.”

This conversation had been 2 weeks in the making. And in those 2 weeks, Kleimann had been a busy man…

Kleimann dangled from the seat of his pants as a dragon held him there, pinching with its powerful claws. He looked at the creature for a moment, studying its angry face before spreading his lips into a comical smile and shrugging. “You’ve found me! Congratulations!”

He was quick to create a sphere of mana to block the ‘light’ dragon breath that came after him. An attack of this level wouldn’t kill him—but it would send him to his room in the nude. He flew back in an arc, his orb traveling through the Dragon Roost as dozens of dragons watched him with various expressions, some grooming each other, some eating fruit. He sighed, sitting cross-legged in his sphere as he thought. No good this time either.

His sphere was caught before it hit the ground, and as he was lifted up, Kleimann turned to see the Lord of all Lightwyrms staring up at him. Jupiter held him with his hind legs and lightly bounced him around from claw to claw, his wings splayed out on the flowery grass below him. “Ah, Kleimann. You are back again! How goes it, chap?” His chirpy voice was laced with light mana that made the hair on the back of Kleimann’s neck stand on end, a pulse of magic so delicate and fine that it could permeate his barrier without damaging it, almost like a cell. He made a very solid mental note on this to elaborate on later with future research (one day, someday, when these pesky dragons would stop being so proud about everything).

“Oh, good heavens, no…!” The groan of the Waterwyrm, Lady of the Lake, resounded a ways away. He flicked his head. She was surrounded by child drakes who looked at the ball of mana that encased a human being with shining eyes. Did he look like a ball? Well, Jupiter was surely making it look that way. “We really must stop meeting like this.” She meant that he really must stop trying to take scales from them for his research. She seemed to be teaching the dragons something. He would observe, but more bouncing made him unsteady in his orb, and it popped.

“Oooh! I got a prize!” The Lord of Thunder chirped happily. “Lucky me!!”

The child drakes cheered and gathered around, and motherly Mercury raised her head to the heavens in exasperation. Kleimann tried for a cheerful comment. “Looks like child dragons are as difficult to teach as human ones. You have my sympathies, madam.”

She wordlessly sent him a glare. He could feel the pounding of the ocean on his skin, as though he really were submerged in it. She wasn’t trying to actually subdue him with a psychic attack, but it was a little difficult to ask the greatest water dragon of all to ‘tone it down’, as it were.

“Seeking scales again?” A less ‘holy’ voice. Landing on Jupiter’s other claw (much to his and the children’s delight) was Mym. Her crimson hair billowed out from behind her, and though she kept her draconic mana neatly hidden underneath a human suit, she was every bit as regal. Right now she was giving him an amused look, like how a cat might look at a farm mouse and see entertainment before dinner. So macabre. “I thought you’d learned your lesson, old man.”

It was no secret that the Dragons did not like Kleimann.

Well, in his defense, he hadn’t really grasped the full situation of how things worked the first time he saw a dragon in Euden’s Halidom. He could remember the day clearly: A lone wind dragon was tending to herself by the foot of a river, her green scales shining in the sun like coral. His scientist heart immediately saw a valuable source of specimens, and he’d been fully prepared to cast a sleeping spell and loot only the loosest scales from her body (he would always swear this).

The moment he had begun to write the spell formula in his head, two other dragons flanked him from out of nowhere, and he had been lifted up by the great Agni, flame dragon of legend. Seeing the mythical shoulder guards that floated ever-so-gently above his arms, reading those ancient runes that spoke of tongues lost to the modern world—it had almost been enough to make his heart stop.

And that was how Euden had found him, being teased by the dragons and demanding that they return his wand and spellbook.

Back then, the only dragons that Kleimann had ever encountered had been wild ones, pact-less and free lords of the elements that would give him scales for a duel or for some intelligent parley (or, in most cases, after being sent to the world of dreams by his hand). If Kleimann had known that these dragons were under the service of the seventh scion of Alberia—and that he could obtain scales simply by offering them _the premier food of choice for all dragonkind_ (Euden was sorely mistaken in thinking his blessed Dragonfruit Tree was a common thing)—well, he certainly would’ve approached things differently.

But reputations are hard to change once set, and though Euden had formally enlisted his services as a warmage, those that farmed the Tree for fruit had been carefully instructed by the Greatwyrms not to give him any. The nerve! How rude! He was no cook, but he could at least present it to them on a silver platter, cut up nicely if they so desired! In the present moment, admonished by three of the most powerful dragons to ever exist, Kleimann brought forth his case. “My dearest colleagues,” Jupiter rolled his eyes, Mercury narrowed hers, and Mym gave him a look that plainly told him she could _out-thesis_ him any day of the week. He pressed on, not giving himself time to regret his choice of words. “I’m sure if you just spoke to the fruit pickers, I could bring you some nice ripe berries as a peace offering? It’s been about 5 months since I’ve first arrived. Surely I’ve served my penance?”

“He speaks of penance!” Jupiter giggled. “Oh, oh we could ask that Hildegarde girl to read him some scripture! How’s it go? Um, let’s see let’s see, I swear I know the scripture that says to worship me, hold on,” Here, Kleimann kept his lips shut. The dragon children giggled, but it was clear that he was not the only one who wasn’t pleased with the comment.

Mercury, a dragon known for her sponsorship of the intelligent races, was always appreciative of the efforts of those that worshipped her (even if, as Kleimann had soon confirmed after meeting them, that Dragons view the Illian Church in a myriad of terms). And even though Mym was herself brought to laughter at the thought of Paladyns tending to her every whim (if you listen and don’t boast your presence, you can pick up quite a good bunch of secrets in the Halidom), she was not so boorish as to openly sneer the attempts of mortals who wished to connect with her.

In short, Kleimann was privy to quite the scene as Mercury struggled with seeing the children, some only born within the last three decades, so readily take to such disparaging humor.

Wow.

“Ok, ok y’all— _Book of Rex 7:43_ ,” Kleimann had to admit, Jupiter was quite the comedian. He really was striking the perfect balance between open mockery and careful imitation as he adopted the tone a Priest might use in church. Even if this verse was, to anyone who knew their Bible even slightly well, obviously made up. _“Listen ye well, flock of Illia, thou shalt not be a creep and spy on dragons! More ripe berries for Jupiter! More spicy ones, please!”_ More laughter. Kleimann wasn’t hurt so much as he was interested in the way that Mym kept her face tight and Mercury turned her disapproving glare towards Jupiter. “Whaaat? Oh come on, it’s funny, Merc!”

A little dragon child, purple in color, piped up. “Mercury thinks Jupiter is a rude boy!”

The mage had to cover his mouth for that one. Laughter resounded as the dragon children chanted ‘rude boy, rude boy!’ and Jupiter blinked before falling to giggling fits himself. Kleimann saw great need to find stable ground, and jumped.

His arm was taken by Mym, who was shaking her head as they floated down. How kind. “Good God, Jupiter.”

“Heavy humor?” He tried. “Maybe you could ask him to lighten the routine.”

“I mean he’s not wrong,” She gave him a glance where her eyes blazed for just a moment. Truly, playing with her food. But then her annoyance returned. “But my comrade seems to balance for overwhelming power with lack of tact.” She gave his arm a gentle (actually gentle) squeeze. He nodded, locked the comment away in his head and threw away the key, as it were. Oh, how _interesting_ these creatures were. They had an entire set of social dynamics that were similar to every culture of intelligent peoples across the land, yet so unique and different. Perhaps this confirmed the theory that intelligent culture sprung as an imitation of Draconic society!

Either way, he still didn’t have his scales.

Landing on the grass, he wondered if he could slip away off the hook without getting noticed. Jupiter and Mercury were busy badgering each other, and the children were learning every bit of it, to the mother’s dismay. However, judging by the iron weight of Mym’s hand on his arm, and the cheeky look she gave him as he tugged slightly, he was wrong. “Oh, please do spare me.” He was frank with her. “I have a busy day today.”

“Toying with Ranzal?” She snickered.

“I will thank you to respect mortal conventions of research ethics.” This woman—dragon woman—was no evil manipulator. Her love for Euden was as clear as day (and her competitive nature as hot as an iron forge). She may tease and prod and silently roll her eyes at mortal religion, but he did not take Mym to be the type of person to be rude about things like this.

“My connection to mana is for far more important matters than gossiping about the state of one of my darling’s generals. You have nothing to fear.” What she _meant_ was that he had nothing to fear as long as Ranzal stayed alive. Really, why did every super-perceptive being in this castle give him a look regarding this topic?

“He’s the one who didn’t let me explain anything.” He grumbled. He felt like a child complaining to a teacher.

“Doesn’t that mean you fail as a researcher?” She shrugged, completely content with herself. “It’s _Ranzal_ we’re talking about. I thought you’d know what you were getting into.”

He didn’t need this right now. Kleimann thought to clap for the dragons’ attention—then, with a clear head, realized how suicidal that would be—and simply raised his hand. Like a _grade schooler_ learning how to hold a wand! But the indignation was a fair price to pay. “Excuse me?” The dragons turned to him, with Jupiter managing to sneak in the last word. “Yes, hello. About me making up with all of you…”

“But we don’t like you, Kleimann! Right? That’s what we’re on, right?”

“What did he do?” A child drake asked.

Nodding to him, Jupiter let Kleimann answer for his crimes. “Oh, I just…sought scales from one of your kind as she bathed in a river.” The children bristled. Oh, boy. “But I swear, I’m experienced, I wasn’t going to hurt her at all! Just a simple sleeping spell…”

They all gave him judgmental looks, copying the great mother of the sea. He shut up. If he turned the tables around and saw himself doing that to a human, he could see how badly it looked. There was no sexual dimension to this, not like how a human might spy on another human for the purposes of gazing upon their naked flesh. But it was equally rude. “I am sorry.” He bowed his head.

“ _…Hat.”_

He turned his head. “I’m sorry?”

A dragon child, who reached him about at chest level, walked up to him and tried to reach up with her purple claws. _“Can I play with your hat?”_

“Child, you—” Mym started, but then sighed. “Kleimann, you clean it, right?”

“Of course I clean it!” He allowed himself to be snippy with her, then presented his gorgeous hat to the dragon child. “Please take care of it. It’s sturdy, but—”

 _“Yayy!_ Thank you!! _”_ The child chirped as she turned around. “Look everyone! I’m a science man!” The dragon children rallied around her, and Mercury gave up her teaching for the morning, gently goading them to play nearby.

He smiled up at her, hopeful. She did not smile back at him.

“Charming our children is a good first step.” Wind began to kick up, and Kleimann turned to see the great Migardsormr himself up high, descending. His wind mana pierced right through Kleimann. Ranzal, on his best days, could only hope to manifest a drop of what he was currently feeling. _“_ But this is not enough, wizard.” He landed, and flowers were made to bloom, die, and scatter as pure mana at his feet. What power. Those red eyes regarded Kleimann up and down. “The disrespect you have shown us isn’t something so easily erased.”

"Especially since you keep trying to, like, force it, man!” Jupiter piped up. “That’s _real_ lame, you know.”

What a…casual way to say it.

“My apologies.” He bowed again. “Your scales are simply such potent vessels of mana! Using just one as a catalyst can increase the yield of a typical extraction by over 450%.” He pleaded with Migardsormr. This dragon had to understand. He was a patron of the arts, was said to have founded the first ever school for wizards in a forest of myth. Merlin had been said to have parleyed with him, and had been given the first ever dragonscale staff, a wonder lost to the sands of time. “I’ll do _anything_ you need me to. I just—”

“Stop.” He lifted up a claw. “Brother and Sisters, I will personally hear his request. If he obtains my approval, then we shall treat him the same as all of our Liege’s other heroes.” Objections rose. He silenced them with his continued lifted claw. “I ask that you trust my wisdom of the magical arts, and believe in my honor. Let him try his worth against me. If he succeeds in gaining my approval, then we shall grant him what he seeks so that he may not have to use these…methods he has devised.”

Kleimann was as stiff as a stone.

Was this real?

“And if you find him lacking in honor? Or in reason?” Mercury turned her head. They gave off the impression of a matriarch and a patriarch, talking like they were.

“Then he swears to abandon the pursuit of our scales for the rest of his days.”

“I-I swear! I’ll never approach the Dragon Roost again.” He jumped at this chance before he could be denied by further objections.

Jupiter cocked his head. Looked at him. He really did have such avian mannerisms. But it was obvious that he was observing Kleimann’s body language. “Hmm…” A glint of wisdom, so often hidden by mirth and jokes, appeared in his gaze. Kleimann was no slouch in his lore. He knew that the Lightwyrm had a history with testing the hearts of men. “…Well, I am not one for the brainy, bookish types, usually. If this man was a more like a gladiator, then I’d beseech you to let me handle his approval…” He clicked his beak slowly. Kleimann did his best to stand firm under that sharp noise. _“…”_ A shrug. “…Eh. Whatever. Go on your merry way, homo sapien, blah blah blah.”

He bowed rapidly. “Thank you so much!!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Mym shook her head, dragged her hands over her face. “Ok.” She pushed her fingers together and pressed her forehead. “Ok, fine. That’s fine. I trust in Migardsormr’s judgements as much as I trust my own.” She pointed at the Windwyrm, and for a second, Kleimann forgot that she was just as Great Dragon as he was. It looked like lunacy. “My word rides on yours, old man!”

“Just like old times?” He chuckled.

“At least the old times yielded more important questions.” She gave Kleimann a look, and bounded off.

“And now you, sister.”

Mercury peered close to Kleimann. She pulsed, smelt of sea foam in the summer time. It was such a soft smell that Kleimann was slightly disarmed. “…If you make an additional promise to continue your care of your current research subject, I will allow it.”

Kleimann cocked his head. “Ranzal?”

She nodded. “You are responsible for him, are you not?”

Well…in a sense, he _was_ , but…

Why would she care about _him_? Ranzal wasn’t water attuned at all. Gears started to turn in his head, but he pushed the thought aside to get at the core of her question.

Would he continue to care for Ranzal? The buffoon was somewhat dependent on him not to backslide out of his strengthening regimen. The mage doubted that Ranzal could continue to train himself adequately in shadow mana manipulation without his guidance. “…You know of his character.” She nodded. “…” If he had his way, he would pour a full jug of ale over his head and kick him to the curb. But there were more important things in life. More pressing than what he felt about some ruffian who didn’t appreciate magic or the study that came with it, who thought himself slick enough to try and pull a fast one on Kleimann. This thing he was doing now? It was not his main focus as an academic. It was just a way to fund himself towards his ultimate goal. And for that reason he was able to put his pride aside and say. “I do not like him, personally. But you have my word, madam. Not a hair on his head will be harmed.”

She smiled. Because he had quoted scripture? Or for some other reason? But this time he really was disarmed. He had never thought a dragon would ever smile at him.

He watched in deep thought as she turned to Migardsormr and nodded. “You have my approval as well.”

“Damn, son.” Jupiter coo’ed. “What about Zodiark? Where is he?”

The warm look that Migardsormr was giving Mercury was replaced with a more serious expression. “Oh, he is here. He is listening. Waiting to hear what I say.”

The Shadowyrm had only been recently contracted, which completed the set of Greatwyrms and, in a sense, gave Euden some authority over all wyrmkind. But Kleimann had heard that there had been complications in the closing of that specific pact. He didn’t know much about it, but the mage had felt the presence of something powerful in the dark places of the castle ever since Euden had come back and announced that his sister was now his enemy.

So he was here, all around them.

Jupiter yawned. “Tell the old fart I said hi.”

Then, the mage felt a sharp glance on the top of his head. “Kleimann. On my back. We speak in private. Let an attendant know that if Euden seeks this man’s audience today, that he must wait until the evening.”

And that was how Kleimann had one of the most silent, uncomfortable, and thought-provoking dragon ride of his life.

The only dragon ride of his life.

…

“Your research _needs_ dragon scale.” Migardsormr looked out into the deep abyss of the cliffs, the heavy mana clouds below flowing. “You cannot continue without it.”

Migardsormr had taken him to a set of stone spires a few hundred kilometers away from the Halidom. The wind howled, the irregular splotches of tough grass flickered around, and Kleimann had been initially struck by the lack of any visible animal life. Apparently, this was the place where the Windwyrm chose to think and philosophize. They had stood there for a good few minutes, silent. Perhaps Migardsormr had been gathering his thoughts. Perhaps he had been allowing Kleimann to gather his.

But in areas like this, where the confines of civilization were thin and easily escaped, Kleimann could take off his mask and feel the air on his face, let the wind toy with his hair. He’d get another hat. All that mattered was sitting on the edge of nothingness, and talking things out with a being of seemingly endless age. “You are correct. My main research project has hit a snag. I require, among many other fine materials and resources, a steady supply of dragon scale.”

He had told Migardsormr everything. All his plans. All his aims. He had described his dreams in the most excruciating scientific detail, and Migardsormr had questioned his experimental designs so thoroughly that he felt spun out, like a coil of thread allowed to run.

He was not being threatened; in fact Kleimann had been keen to note the Dragon’s soft quiet after finishing his analysis of his experiment. But sitting here, with the howling wind in his face, at his shirt, and the knowledge that a single push of his hands forward would spell his certain doom—it was sobering.

The prospect of the void and what may come after was always a sobering thought.

“You could have found yourself in any other location to support your endeavors. I am well aware that there are campuses across the world that would be able to provide you with the things you seek.” He had, indeed, founded the first school for magic long ago. That had been electrifying to learn. “So why attach yourself to the Prince of Alberia? To the Heir of my ambitions?”

He let out a dry chuckle, feeling the goosebumps on his skin. “You think that a common Institutional Review Board would allow me my passions? My goals?” He turned his head and tilted his chin up towards the direction of Migardsormr’s voice. “They’d sooner strip me of my degrees—or steal my project and claim the glory for themselves.”

“Do you _know_ that this experiment will grant you that glory? That answer you seek?”

“I’m more surprised that _you_ do not.” A wicked grin spiderwebbed across his face. Ah, how good it felt to be so frank with a mighty being. “But then, your domain doesn’t touch the departed too much. Perhaps I could save myself a lot of trouble and ask the Shadowyrm for help, if he were to show himself.” It would be cheating. It would be nullifying the thrill of discovery, if he just asked a god-like being for the answer at the end of the riddle. But the option was there. “Maybe he knows the answer to what I seek.”

“You are wrong, mage. He would not be able to help you.” His voice was slightly stern, but more so tired. Tired because he was so old? How Borgian. “Not even Zodiark knows what lies after death.”

He leaned forward. “Do you wonder about it? At all?” His hand stretched itself out, coiled itself in the wind. From a bird’s eye view, he knew that his hand and forearm hung over the depths.

“…I do not.”

“Your curiosity is within the physical sphere.” He shrugged. “It is not ignoble. My darling student wishes to understand how to toy with the bases of matter, you know.”

“Yet she seems quite adept at agricultural work.” He heard the Great Dragon muse. “But it’s publish or perish, right?”

Ahhh, he understood! Such a lovely feeling, to be understood. “Was it you who came up with that system? All of my professors and friends would like to have a word with you, you know.”

A dry laugh from the master of wind. “Oh, no. That was all you lot. I gave knowledge, and you provided the pomp and circumstance of academia.”

“How cynical. We are the architects of our own demise!” A high giggle escaped Kleimann’s lips. The cut-throat world of academics, of digging and clawing to publish work that would at once retain tenure and be grounded enough not to ruin one’s reputation (a harder endeavor than most would assume)—he wouldn’t have it any other way. “But it’s a thrill, all the same.”

“You mages…” Migardsormr sighed. Kleimann did not care for the tone.

A few days later, Kleimann walked, whistling with a spring in his step. He balanced a dragon scale on the tips of two fingers. Oh, he’d never forget the look of those who regularly tended to the dragons when he showed up and rightfully demanded a plate to fill with berries. It had been two weeks since then, and Kleimann had been nothing short of a gentleman with the dragons. He had even cut up the fruits into cubes for the hatchlings—something which their astounded parents appreciated. The flame scale he now held was given to him by a begrudging Mym.

 _“Just take it_.” She had said. “ _I hope you find what you’re looking for_.”

He was not so stupid as to miss the depth of those words.

So the Dragons knew of his aims—at least, the Greatwyrms did. It did not bother him. He already had Euden’s approval, both personal and formal. No matter what anyone thought, it would not dissuade him. Now that he had dragon scale, he could cross that stubborn item off his list.

As for the rest…

…Well, there was a certain _reality_ that came with lending Wand and Mind to a rebellious prince.

Kleimann walked through the forest and silently put the dragon scale back in his pocket as he heard a wail. Nearby. With a slightly quicker pace, he made his way to the source of the sound. There was the man of the hour, of every hour—Euden swung his sword and deflected a blow from a strong fiend. “Shoot, this one’s a toughie!” He smiled his winning smile, then noticed Kleimann and waved. “Oh, hi!”

“My Leige,” he bowed. He knew that Euden disliked bowing, but Kleimann demanded a certain degree of professionalism from the Rebellious Prince. At first, he had resisted—but now, the Prince just let it happen.

Euden was accompanied by young Lowen (his mana, red and green ,swirled beautifully within him), Maribelle (a walking windy nuke), and Elias (eternally sparkling). “We were collecting some roots for Cleo, but we got ambushed by these fiends. Could you lend a hand?”

“Naturally.” He flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, and reached for his wand. But he stopped moving as his vision trained on Lowen, who looked like he was struggling. “Boy.” Kleimann spoke, and Lowen stood at attention. Nervous? Well, he didn’t have a great reputation with the children, either, did he? It was expected. He did walk around with a mask and gush about his projects (because they deserved to be gushed about). “Why are you standing so rigidly?”

A small fiend jumped out of the bushes. Without even turning to acknowledge it, he flicked his wand, and cut it in twain.

“Wow!” Maribelle gasped. Kleimann let himself drink of her praise for a moment before kneeling down in front of Lowen, waiting for an answer.

“U-Um…” Lowen didn’t know what to say.

Euden blocked a couple more blows and called back. “Hey, it’s alright, Lowen! Kleimann won’t judge at all.”

“I promise.” He did. Anyone who had any brains knew that a child’s education was mired with harsh judgement. Adults? Oh, one could feel free to wring them until they became like towels. Every research lab ever worth its salt was, in some respects, severe. But this child was not at all of an age where he could be expected to perform that level of experimentation. So Kleimann sat on the ground (sent out another blast of mana towards a fiend who thought itself clever), and shrugged. He wouldn’t smile, no. His smiles were often described as creepy. And besides, talking down to a child never made them feel any smarter. Nor did it help _him_ to feel any more comfortable. “So, why are you holding your staff like a chicken neck?”

“C-Chicken neck?”

“He’s talking about how people eat chickens!” Maribelle called out, swinging her own staff with practiced grace. “Ewwww!!”

He shrugged. That was the way of the world.

“I..Oh, I don’t know.” He threw his hands down. “I’ve been so backed up with healing, lately. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You’re doing fine, Lowen--!!” Euden tried to play the role of big brother and effective fighter. He was failing.

“Euden, please be careful!” Elias shot two arrows, but they only pierced the fiend’s armor. He spat in frustration.

Sighing, the older mage stood. “Please have some patience. I’ll get to you in a bit.” With a flourish and a whispered hex, Kleimann sent purple spires through the body of a few of the fiends, and held them in place. “If you keep talking while you swing your sword, you might bite off your tongue, my lord.” He knew what Euden was trying to do. He was trying to give these children experience, and was holding off on felling the fiends himself. Not a bad strategy. But Euden lacked some refinement in situation analysis. He had been biting off more than he could chew. Kleimann would not admonish him and risk that he lose reputation with these young ones. Nor did he need to. Euden frowned, understanding the hidden meaning behind his words. “Working like that, with a healer who can’t pump out mana, is a recipe for disaster.”

He tilted his head back at Lowen, who blushed from shame.

“He’s just been out of his groove lately.” A kindly voice spoke up. From the bushes emerged Miss Sophia—or Sophie as she would rather be called. The young woman’s staff pulsed with light, and Euden’s body shivered in thankful delight as healing wind mana wove into his flesh. Kleimann saw the hints of fatigue and the few odd cuts disappear from his body.

Kleimann tilted his hat to her, chose to keep his tongue in check on an important topic for the moment. “It may be that way, but…” No. This was a child he was attempting to help. He had to remind himself again not to be as rough as he might be with—say—Ranzal (though Ranzal was a special case worthy of much mockery).

“You’re holding your staff all wrong!” Maribelle, trying to be helpful, pried the tool away from Lowen. “You have to give it some _pizzazz_ , some _flavor!_ ” She posed a very intricate (and very unbalanced) attack stance. She’d been learning new words, again.

The mage sighed as Lowen tried to copy the stance, but almost fell. Elias walked forward, his bow at his side. “I don’t think that’s helping.”

“Um…” Maribelle thought really hard, and Kleimann shot Euden and Sophie a look. Their responses told him to just let it be.

With that, Kleimann resolved to act, instead.

Raising his hand (this time it didn’t feel so embarrassing to act like a school child), he wiggled his arm wildly. “Oooh!! Ohh!! Miss Maribelle!! Me me, pick me!” The children turned to look at him. Yes, he was being very awkward. But the way that the girl giggled and pointed at him made it worth it. Cut through the tension (push down the _bullshit_ ) and get the message through. “Isn’t that stance you’re using primarily for attacking? I thought Lowen was a devoted healer.”

She blinked. Gasped. Even Kleimann could see that she was one of the little princesses of the Halidom. Adorable and powerful in every respect. “Oh! Oh, shoot. I’m sorry! Umm, for healing, you gotta stand like—like this!”

Kleimann barked out a laugh. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, my apologies, dear. That’s just—” He covered his mouth, biting his lip.

Sophie giggled lightly as well. “That’s not a healing stance. That’s a birdy stance.”

She had been trying to cheer Lowen up. It worked—marginally. And it was obvious why. A magic caster who was fizzling on his spells was like a chef who spilled his ingredients on a dirty floor. He walked forward and lightly clapped the young man’s head, the movement somewhat awkward. “I remember being your age. Once I failed a spell in the field that I had practiced for _weeks._ Almost tore my whole hair out trying to push it through.”

“Did you manage it?” Lowen looked up at him with those innocent eyes. They all did

“Oh, not at all! I failed a dozen more times. Completely ate the dirt.” Disappointment flickered in the healer’s face. Well it was _true_. Kleimann had, indeed, failed a dozen times after declaring himself proficient with that charm. And it _had_ been frustrating enough for him to hit himself like an idiot. The marks of a mad scientist had been with him early on. “The trick was that my _method_ s weren’t correct. I had a _terrible_ base for that spell, how could I ever hope to reliably cast it?” He turned to Elias. “Could you sing if you just shrieked out? If you just let your voice go without any strategy?”

A shiver went up his spine. “Oh, no! Singing requires you to know how to identify notes and keep tempo, especially in a choir.”

A grin appeared on Kleimann’s face. “I take it you’ve failed too.”

“Master Vixel’s bowtie came undone once when I was still green.” There it was, the ache of shame in those eyes, tempered by time.

“But it’s because of that screw up that you know how to sing better. You won’t make that mistake again, will you?” He made a gesture.

“I wanna hear you shriek.” Maribelle giggled.

“No, no you seriously don’t.” Elias shook his head. And they all laughed.

He tuned out Euden’s whispering. “So, what’s your base formula for closing wounds?”

Lowen blinked. “My what?”

Oh dear.

Ranzal sat naked in his chair, his shining sweat picked up by his towel as he rubbed himself clean. Another successful extraction, another night of Ranzal moaning under his touch and neither of them talking about it after (because there wasn’t anything to talk about). “No, see, those kids cast magic naturally. They don’t do any of that practice shit.”

“Do you think I could do what I do if I didn’t do that _‘practice shit’_?” He let his tone get more than a little rude. Ranzal’s idiocy was in full force today. Kleimann had failed to bring a good point of reference to Lowen (though his efforts had been appreciated), he did not particularly care for Ranzal’s brand of _uhhh all magic is shooting out pretty colors._ “The foundation of magic is _theory_ , which is formed by understanding the complex flow of mana. Do you _honestly_ think that people are just _born_ with magic?”

“I mean,” He took a sip of his water. Coy bastard son of a bitch. “Maribelle’s a powerhouse.”

“Maribelle, my dear buffoon,” he ignored the frown that came on Ranzal’s face. “is blessed by forest fae. But that doesn’t spare her from having solid practice under her belt.”

Ranzal opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again after surely thinking of something to say that wouldn’t make Kleimann slap his dick from frustration (he hadn’t done that— _yet_ ). “…I mean. They were doing fine before. But…” He scratched the back of his head, exposing his armpit. Sweaty. He cleaned that too as he continued to speak, groaning. “It’s the Halidom, man. It ain’t like we’re the richest folk around.”

That was the ticket, wasn’t it? He’d said the quiet part out loud.

Euden’s Halidom was a place of safety for the surrounding people. A ray of hope in the darkness. Our hero, our savior, what have you. And the people who were under his care were _very_ grateful—after all, they let idiots like Ranzal flirt and take them to bed, just by their association with Euden. But even though the common folk were glad to finally pay taxes to someone who didn’t treat them like hot garbage (Euden had, allegedly, had been considering not taxing them at _all_ —the fool), it was clear that the Halidom was not the apex of luxury. Yes, they were very fortunate to have a magical castle with expanding halls that could house however many people pledged themselves to Euden underneath that blessed fountain—but that did not cover expenses.

That didn’t cover _building_ or _instrument costs_.

And if someone like Kleimann could not perform the type of experiments he wanted, what hope was there for little children who were finding out that being a self-taught mage was an exponentially difficult task?

“We…” Euden put his head in his hands the next day, sighing. Sophie, Verica, Vixel, and Elisanne were with him, as well as Kleimann. “I think I’m failing those kids.” He said, his usually happy demeanor gone. “I mean, I can really only teach swordplay, and even that…”

“My Liege, _no_.” The Paladyn shook her head. She was as sweet as a freshwater river, as bright as droplets of holy water in the sun at a baptism. Another person that had fallen for Euden’s banally dense charms. She’d die pining, completely satisfied with that outcome. He’d call it a tragedy if it wouldn’t earn him her spear on his tongue. “You’ve done so much for us all. We’re slowly growing. We’ll reach new heights soon, I’m sure of it. The surrounding city-states will soon see that allying with us will return them to the glory of the original Alberia.”

Kleimann kept a flat expression when she said that. Oh, if only Illia would grant them such quarter.

“However, it would be presumptuous of us not to admit that we are lacking in the education sector.” Vixel mused. The musician put his long fingers to his lips, and he looked like one of the statues of the philosophers at Kleimann’s alma mater. Wasn’t the man an eunuch? Well, he’d have to be to be able to hit such high notes. Or perhaps he used mana to alter his pitch….Kleimann gave up on that line of thinking. Usually he’d pursue it, but really, his failure with Lowen yesterday was depressing him. “The adults are fine, we can hone our skills ourselves, but…”

“It’s the children.” Verica mused. “They’re lacking instruction.”

“Lowen was so sad yesterday. It hurt to see.” Sophie sighed.

This depressing air was threatening to choke him. Kleimann put his fingers together and sighed deeply.

All for the goal.

Two conversations pushed Kleimann to do what he did next.

The first was the day when Migardsormr had taken him to those windy peaks and they had talked about death and the worth of life. The dragon, as a patron of the arts, was also concerned with the education of the youngsters in the Halidom. Part of the expectation that Kleimann could use dragon scales in his work—that his work was approved by this additional review board—was that he would devote himself to the welfare of those young people as much as possible.

Really, where was the need to put such terms inside of an honor contract? But he’d agreed, after all.

The second conversation had been with two close friends.

_“Well, there’s quite the ethical dilemma your Prince is dancing with, hee hee.” After Ranzal had left last night, the black candles had been deployed again. And this time, Kleimann had been able to connect with the reputable Sha Wujing. They had worked together on a couple of remote assignments during their undergrad years as part of their international credits, and they’d kept in touch since then. Between the two, Sha Wujing was the more successful war mage, as he had risen to become the top weapons developer in Taiwu—all to throw it away to chase relics with a brute of his own and a starry-eyed girl. A sane mage would call him stupid, but Kleimann had praised him for following his heart, whether or not that would end up driving him into the jaws of poverty. How could he do anything else, when he was doing the same thing? “Child soldiers are quite the unattractive look.”_

_Kleimann nodded. Oh, if any of Euden’s inner circle heard that phrase, they’d become so incensed..._

_Might comes before all in this world. I will bet my hippocampus that Dyrenell is also employing talented youngsters.” Kleimann was not so much of a fool as to die on a hill for Euden’s ideals. He did love his Prince, but not to the extent that someone like Ranzal would. Such blind loyalty was bad for a number of reasons. “But you are right. It does stink.”_

_“War is a cruel mistress.” Sha Wujing sighed. “Ah, but how she rewards those who are devoted to her~”_

_“Interesting words from the man who developed poison gas for the Taiwu army.” Heinwald was also an acquaintance of Sha Wujing—but he had not been able (or terribly willing) to forge a friendship with him. Kleimann would always remember their days in Silvergale, where Heinwald would hold him back from making statements that clearly crossed comfort lines. He’d given up when Sha Wujing had validated those for him. Poor guy. He had done his best to make sure that Kleimann hadn’t grown up wrong—and failed. “Did your past military collect statistics on the affected who were underage?” The years had tempered Heinwald’s tongue, had cooled his temper, and had allowed them both time to grow. A younger Heinwald would’ve immediately launched with accusations about Taiwu’s lack of interest in child casualties—which would’ve prompted one hell of an argument about national history._

_Luckily they were all at an age where they could acknowledge the war transgressions of their nations and others at the same time. All nations had blood on their hands. With that came wise perspective. Sha Wujing hummed, and another voice—gruffer, manlier—spoke up from a distance. “They didn’t use to, but that changed a few years before Sha Wujing and I left with Lady Xuan Zang.” A chuckle. “Who was it that read that filibuster, again? You cheeky bastard.”_

_“Ah, so growth is possible.” Heinwald mused. The smile in his voice was almost solid._

_“This is a private call, you brute!” Sha Wujing caterwauled, and Kleimann had let himself imagine what sort of antics those two would regularly get up to. The history between Sha Wujing and his piggy general was always an interesting one. “I swear, that man…” A groan, stretching, most likely. “Anyways, we agree that all militaries have some serious ethical and philosophical shaky ground at least. Whether or not your Euden is able to change that, I mean, that’s up to him.”_

_Would Euden be able to provide the world a new mode of warfare? Was that not, by its very nature, an impossible task? “But no man can change the world alone. Every single one who’s tried has failed.” Heinwald added. “I would say that it is your responsibility to help, as someone who has sworn loyalty to him and enjoys of his power.”_

_“Oh, I don’t shape shift. The dragons are still not close enough to me to make that happen.” Kleimann giggled. “…But food, drink, and lodging are not to be taken lightly.”_

_“Not at all.” Both his friends agreed._

_“So, are you going to do it? Make that sacrifice?” Sha Wujing put forward as his candle flickered with his voice, with the strain of transmitting it from such a long distance._

In the present moment, Kleimann took a book out of his bag and set it on the table. It was the simplest one he could find. Those at the table stared at it as he explained. “I propose that we start to look for valuable reading material in our travels to add to our libraries. And if any of us hold tomes on theory, we would at least consider donating them to your cause, my Liege.”

“Kleimannn, you’re too kind.” He smiled.

“To think I would ever see a mage _willingly_ part with his books,” Verica breathed. Her eyes were as crystalline as the orbs she used to look at the future. He could sense the way she looked at him, as though he were a book himself and she were reading him from cover to cover. “This is no small sacrifice, Kleimann.” She said that not only to inform Euden of the gravity of what he was doing (as educated as he was, he had no insight into the world of mages), but to also put his worth on the table.

Elisanne picked it up, read through it. “This is such a heartfelt donation…”

He acknowledged the frown she stopped from forming. “It’s not terribly suitable for beginners, sadly. I used to keep all the textbooks and scrolls I had been given as a child—but those burned up in an accident.” He didn’t need to tell them that magical textbooks also cost an arm and a leg if one wasn’t part of an educational track at an established school. Even without that consideration, books in general were pricey. “But perhaps seasoned teachers could comb through it and parse the base theory from the jargon, yes?”

He turned to Sophie, who seemed surprised that she was being focused on like this. “Me?”

They all nodded. “My dear, the command you have over the children is simply divine. Even Lucrieta wishes she were as saintly as you.” Vixel praised her honestly.

“We’ve all seen how you play with them and help them train. It’s not only such a joy to see—but it takes a load off our shoulders, knowing that people like you are here.” Euden continued.

Kleimann smiled cheekily as Sophie took the book from Elisanne, leafed through it, and with a determined look on her face, nodded. “I’ll do all I can.”

“Oh, it won’t just be _you_ of course. Whoever is even modestly capable of instructing should join the endeavor. But someone like you should be at the helm.” Kleimann had assumed this to be implied, but Sophie gasped, tried to all humble. “Or, should _I_ do it? Do you all honestly think that _I_ could be the director of such a program?”

Euden, who understood him, laughed. “It’d be a sin to overwork you!”

“See? I’m a simple soldier in this war of education.” He reached out. “But _you_ …”

“Then…” Sophie smiled a warm smile as she nodded again, holding Kleimann’s book to her breasts. It was fine there. “L-Let’s all do our best!”

A few days later…

“These seeds are of good quality, aren’t they?”

“That’s right, miss. Pumpkin seeds from autumn’s crop.”

Sinoa was crouching down in a perfectly dainty squat next to two farmers as they examined the quality of a handful of small little things. She took notes diligently, a notebook floating above her head, with a quill purposefully moving along the pages. The two farmers had long since grown accustomed to the wonder of seeing an active mage making something dance around their heads, and were now fully engrossed in the discussion of their expected crop yield. According to the townsfolk, these farmers were brothers who had quite the reputation for their delicious pumpkins and eggplants. They had volunteered half their land to be one of Sinioa’s first experimental crops for her new thaumaturgic horticultural endeavors. The girl had spent no small amount of time thanking them for their patronage, as she had for the few others who had agreed to join her in her experimentation.

But of course, that was to be expected. What farmer wouldn’t be excited at the prospect of increasing their yield with only a small bit of effort, aided by mysterious magical forces? Just add a few pretty stones to the ground, and make those babies fat!

Simple enough, right?

“She’s doing quite well for herself, isn’t she?” Ryozen commented as he twirled his spear over his shoulder. “That girl’s got a gift for this sort of stuff.” The three children of those two brothers were sitting around him, oogling his grace and skill with the weapon. After having heard a bit of his stories, they wanted to see a demonstration of his skills. And the old man loved to delight the little ones, so he was predicted to oblige.

No children surrounded Kleimann, even though he and Ryozen sat well next to one another on this simple wooden bench that was set in the entrance to the grazing fields for the farmers’ cattle. A good little spot for a shepherd who wanted to watch over his land and not stand up, and a good spot for him to observe the young woman. “Well, considering she’s just begun to dive into the world of agriculture, yes. Applying the principles of chemistry to foodstuff is noble.”

“I like food!” One of the children chirped.

“As do I, child.”

From the corner of his mask, he saw the little boy’s face grow a little dejected at not being given immediate attention. He had tried to court them before, but they had all gone to Ryozen. Now he wanted his attention? Pish posh. Ryozen gently, fluidly, made a motion with his hands, gathering mana into the air and making a ball of colorful light. “Hey, kiddos. Whoever catches this lil’ thing’ll get a prize from Grandpa Ryozen.” An excellent moniker that the townspeople called him. Fit him like a glove.

The children lit up like an undergraduate researcher being told they would be co-author on their professor’s newest publication. “I want the prize! I want it!!”

Ryozen let the ball float away from his hand, motes in the shape of flower petals trailing it. The children went after it, and he chuckled as they ambled about in the grass. “Don’t rush now, ya hear!!” He called out, putting his hands to his mouth.

And after letting them go, he leaned back, using his arms for support on the edge of the bench, and breathed in a gentle breeze which had come as if on cue.

Kleimann relaxed as well, and sighed. “You should have done that earlier.”

“And miss out on all the fun I was having? Hardly.” Ryozen shot him a smile that had enough charm to hint at unparalleled handsomeness in his younger years. Hell, the man was quite the looker as close to death as he was. “You’re just jealous cuz they liked me better.”

“Perhaps.” Kleimann shrugged. It was like being passed over for an apprenticeship.

“You are displeased about something else.” The monk mused as he watched the soft clouds overhead. “Am I wrong?”

“Am I that obvious?” Kleimann grinned. “Hoo hoo, my poker face is weak!”

They were supposed to be guarding Sinoa, the farmers, and the cattle behind them as the terms of the experiment and appropriate compensation were laid out. Reports of increased fiend activity in the area made it imperative that two people be sent out to deal with them. And since Sinoa had been planning on visiting this town for her research, Kleimann had offered himself. After all, she had budding talent. It would do well to support her in her endeavors, despite the fact that her eventual magical goals were highly divorced from his specific branch of specialization. The mage had already assisted her with a few things in terms of testing out the land’s propensity for certain runic configurations, so he’d left her to finish the rest.

Both Ryozen and Kleimann, for their demeanors, were actually quite keen on their surroundings. Nothing would escape them. But as no fiends had bothered to come near this little drop of civilization, the two had decided to observe Sinoa in her deal-makings. “Speak, friend. I’ve bought us a few minutes of privacy.”

Friend.

His friendship with Ryozen was a strange thing. By all accounts, Kleimann supposed it was because the Prince surrounded himself with people that tended to orbit his own age. Being a bit older than the general crowd of individuals, the two had naturally tended to seek one another out for the odd game of chess or philosophical debate. Even though Ryozen was more than twenty years his senior, he still felt a good amount of camaraderie. He was no mage, but he was one of the few good warriors out there.

So Kleimann did what one should do when a friend asks them what troubles their heart. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and his chin on his down-turned hands. Observing the farmers. The girl. “It irks me to know they’ll never understand her genius.”

“Oh?” The monk said with his unearthly grace peppering his voice. “Explain. Do you have any problems with people of this kind?”

He shook his head. “I have no ill will towards simple folk. Mages work for their benefit, and the Prince seeks to protect them. If I had any problems with that, I would not lend Euden my wand.” And that was, honestly, the truth. Mages could be contracted by anyone who had the coin or the item to trade for their services. And as he was currently a war-mage, he lent his services to a reagent whom he could feel comfortable with. No one was forcing him to give Euden his magic circuitry. Helping the poor and honest came with the job of observing this interesting Rebellious Prince from up close. “But I cannot fathom how _lacking_ the educational system is.”

It was the same problem, inside and outside of the Halidom.

“Kleimann,” Ryozen began. He was no longer leaning back. Instead, he was silently cleaning his spear with a well-used rag. The rhythmic sounds, which reminded Kleimann of the way that sandals gently caress the wooden floors of temples, were a good accompaniment to the idyllic scenery of farmland. “There will be those who are not as knowledgeable as we are on certain subjects. I could not expect a sailor to be well-versed in mantras, after all.”

He was kind to give himself as an example. “I know, I know. It’s just—” How should he explain this? “I don’t expect people to know _everything_ , but when I hear _simple stupidity_ , I—”

At that moment, one of the brothers cheered. “Hoo-wee!! At this rate, this year’s Pumpkin Crown title’s going straight in the bag. Ain’t that right, big bro?” He clasped his older brother on the back.

Sinoa cocked her head, her wavy caramel hair dripping over her shoulder. A master of simple sociability. “Your farm won that prize last year, correct?”

“And the _three years_ ‘fore that!” The older brother said, continuing his movement to slide his arm around his younger sibling. “Gotta keep the train movin’, little lady.”

“And it’s all thanks to _these_ babies!” The younger brother held up a well-cut piece of topaz and looked at the sun’s rays through it. “Just stick ‘em in the ground, and our little ones’ll grow! Well, we’ll have to sprinkle a little bit of elbow grease to really give ‘em a kick, won’t we?” The two sweaty farmers guffawed, and Sinoa smiled and laughed as well.

Kleimann wrinkled his nose.

Ryozen turned his spear over and began cleaning the blade on the other side. “I saw nothing wrong with what they said.”

“They’re _ignorant_ of the utter _complexity_ of what goes on beneath their feet.” Kleimann murmured. “All these people simply accept the world for what it is. They see plants grow with water, they accept it. They see that fire lights up caves and makes certain rocks glow, they accept it. They see that some people can make books fly around, they accept it—but they don’t try to figure out _why_.” Kleimann extended his hands in exasperation. “And they can’t even begin to try because they don’t have the resources or societal structure to do so! So they’re just _stuck_ as they are, just like our children back in the Castle.” By now, Ryozen should have been aware that Kleimann and some other adults had taken up the mantle of pooling educational resources to teach. But it was such a shoddy job, cobbled together. No matter how well-meaning or talented one may be, without good resources—

The butt of Ryozen staff hit Kleimann lightly on his head.

The mage turned his full attention to the monk. “I’m right on this.”

“Are you really?”

A small wave of energy, a ripple of power, and the two older men rose from their seats. Ryozen with a graceful and cheerful movement, and Kleimann with a fluid and more predatory demeanor. “We’re going to go check out the fields out back!” The monk called. The farmers and Sinoa waved at them just as one of their wives came out with some refreshments.

For a small bit, the two men walked in silence, passing a few cows and sheep which were moving away from the incoming threat. “If only they could see just how _incredible_ the world they live in is…” And if only there were enough quality materials to teach with. Perhaps then children like Lowen would be able to devote themselves more to bookish study than to gathering raw field experience.

“You’re worried that, eventually, a lack of formal preparation will engulf our young.” Ryozen commented.

“It is _bound_ to happen. Even warriors have to train with proper forms and gripping styles. Without a good foundation, this whole operation will go up in flames, starting with them.” Kleimann was firm. “And if that happens, it won’t matter how much goodwill and tenacity people like Ranzal have.”

“Oh! Speaking of Ranzal—” The monk started.

“Please. Please don’t get me started on him.” Kleimann rubbed his temples, ignoring Ryozen’s confused look, trying to focus on the fiends in the distance.

“…Trouble with your lab assistant?”

He began to prepare his wand. “In a word.”

Kleimann was no fool.

He may have joined a strange operation, may have taken on multiple jobs and was now finding himself _donating_ his precious tomes for the benefit of children (Heinwald hadn’t believed that he had actually pulled through to that degree)—but no matter what, Kleimann still retained his professionalism and his hard-earned habits.

So he had known, with sharp immediacy, the moment that Ranzal had begun to snoop around his things.

At first, he had wanted to barge right back into his lab, catch the idiot red-handed, and kick him out. But Sinoa had calmed him down, begged him to think things through. Social cohesion was an important thing when helping a rebel of the crown, and damaging it would endanger them all—especially if, somehow, things could be resolved some other way.

So Kleimann had waited.

He had done his things, regained the trust of the dragons, and had began to butt heads with the children (figuratively)—all in the span of two weeks. All while balancing having a lab assistant who had to be treated with patience simply because he was a fool.

“It has now been two weeks, and Ranzal continues to rummage through my documents.” He poured Sinoa another cup of tea and gingerly placed the tea pot back on the table. “He’s doing it right now, you know.” They were in her room instead of his. Today, he’d told Ranzal that he had needed to gather some rare materials (like he would know). All he’d done was go to Sinoa’s room, pay her for the specific things he needed, and wait the couple hours that one would assume he’d be spending hunting for these things in the wild. And just like he’d predicted, his runes were alerting him that someone—Ranzal specifically—was touching various manuscripts and tomes.

In essence, Kleimann had wanted to talk to her about this topic again. Last time hadn’t been satisfying in its conclusion.

“Right now?” She frowned. “That’s unfortunate. Makes my earlier recommendation seem flimsy.” The younger mage was apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

“May this serve as an example for you.” He didn’t say anything more. She needed to learn that not everyone was to be trusted.

“But I’d like to be honest, Kleimann. May I?” Sinoa said after sipping her tea. She had listened to his stories, was now caught up. This girl was the only person in the Halidom who knew of the exact nature of his experiments with Ranzal. After all, as his mentee, she needed to use some bits of his lab. She was so clinical in her visits that Ranzal’s worries had been quieted (and for good measure, she had personally promised him not to tell anyone about anything). In that sense, she was one of the most fit to comment on the situation.

“Why do you always ask that? You can always be honest.” He waved his hand. At this point he wasn’t coming to her as her senior, but as a fellow man of science. She needn’t be so uptight.

“Ranzal is a very straightforward man. He’s keen on what he wants, and he’ll try to get it how he wants to. I’ve seen him at his best and at his worst.” She had been there during the fiasco that had been his attempt at beating Kleimann at arm wrestling. And like he’d told Ranzal, _everyone_ had seen what he’d been doing to that woman. Yes, alcohol helped to make people more relaxed about it, but that didn’t mean they’d forget. “And I can completely sympathize with you. He’s not someone who puts much stock on the types of things we do.”

“You put it far too lightly, friend.” He made a gesture with his hand. “It’s not just a lack of interest—it’s a complete lack of respect. Then again, what else could I expect from a dunce like him? Hardly educated, yet _somehow_ able to read, imagine that!” He let himself chuckle. Why not have some humor at his expense? It was already part of their routine.

“There it is. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She grimaced.

“What?”

“Sir. I respect you more than you probably know. You’ve opened up so many opportunities for me—”

Another dismissive wave of his hand. He was getting tired of doing this gesture. “Thank you, but all the success you’ve had is a product of _your_ hard work. I’ve barely done anything.”

Sinoa tried again, and Kleimann reminded himself to let her talk. “I disagree, but back on topic. Sir, you cannot expect Ranzal to have a good relationship with you if you treat him so badly.”

He took a sip of his tea.

Let the cup down on the table.

And smiled at Sinoa. “Even if he deserves it?”

“Does he? Does he deserve _everything_ you’ve thrown his way?” Her gorgeous eyes were firm. It was good seeing her like this. He would rather like for her to grow out of the meek early phases of an apprentice and show her spine. If it meant being wrong about this, then so be it. He’d gently correct her after. “I haven’t been to your lab during his extractions many times. I’ve only seen it happen once.”

“Yes.” Ranzal had been embarrassed. Kleimann had laughed. She had adopted a cold, impersonal stance. A fun evening for all. “And you also haven’t been to my lab many days the past two weeks, since you’re busy with your agricultural projects.”

“But in the few times that I’ve been in the room with the two of you, the atmosphere is so strained, sir. You chew him out and call him stupid, he takes it and grumbles as he helps you—and then you wonder why he’s only doing the minimum amount of work he could be doing.” She spoke as though she’d discovered a grand truth.

He shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. I point out his mistakes, he takes it far too personally, and then he gets lazy because—because what? His feelings get hurt? Because I call him out on his lack of refinement?” He shook his head and shrugged. “Sinoa, the man believes himself to be more than he is!”

“Sir, some of the things you say to Ranzal give _me_ second-hand embarrassment.” She didn’t step back down. Oh!! Such good bravery. Yes, yes, this was the kind of mage he’d wanted her to grow into. He let her keep going. “I seem to recall you made the assumption that he was slow.”

“You were not there for that comment.” He remarked.

“Yes, but I know about it because _you_ _told_ me when you were complaining about him.” Ah, he _had_ done that, hadn’t he? Oops. “Let us not forget that _both_ you and Ranzal do not have the best reputations in the Halidom.”

He knew about his reputation, about his lack of good bonds with most people. But this was new to Kleimann. “How do you mean?”

“Well, Ranzal is certainly more sociable and dependable than you—” He opened his mouth to counter, but she didn’t give him quarter. “—but he’s also seen as quite the buffoon by his fellows. And sure, he sort of earns that reputation sometimes—but other times, he really doesn’t. Like,” she wiggled her fingers. “You know Notte? That fairy that hangs around our Liege?”

“Ah yes, the one with the iron tongue!” He chuckled. “I quite like her.”

“She’s very kind when she wants to be—but she’s also got an iron tongue, like you say. And she likes to lay it a little thick with Ranzal, too.” She went on to describe how teasing Ranzal about how much food he ate, or how he snored during expeditions, or any other thing—that this fairy seemed to derive quite the personal mirth from it all. “And it’s a little sad, you know? He does so much, yet he still can’t seem to shake this negative rep he has around him.”

“Oh? And what does our dear old Ranzal do?” He pressed. “Give me concrete examples.”

“Well, he’s heavily involved with the children and their training. That Lowen boy that you can’t seem to get through to? Well, he _adores_ Ranzal.” The image of Ranzal helping Lowen appeared in his mind. What would he help with? He wasn’t a magician by any stretch. Surely, this girl had to be mistaken. “He’s always out helping people. Both in the Halidom and outside. Before Euden contracted his services, he was a presence in the surrounding towns.”

“A presence, huh?” He remembered the way that Ranzal kissed that Sylvan girl, how the barkeep eyed them with ogling, perverted eyes. “Oh, I _bet_.”

“Sir Kliemann, please.” She pressed. “I’m not talking about sex. He was an honest-to-goodness folk hero. He’s _devoted_ to the people of this area. Do you really think the friendliness he experiences from the townsfolk is just because he shares Euden’s banner?”

“Is it not?”

Sinoa shook her head. “Sir, Ranzal is a _pillar_ for the relationships that Euden is making with the surrounding humans, and all that work goes unappreciated at times. You keep complaining about the lack of real resources that we have here, but if it weren’t for Ranzal and his contacts, we wouldn’t have anything.”

“Oh, posh.” Now she was really trying to spin his yarn.

Sinoa shook her head _again_. “You know that smith we have? Ramona?” Yes, he nodded. He heard that she had moved her entire personal workshop to the Halidom to help Euden. It seemed that the Prince’s personal charm wasn’t everything that had to do with the story. He leaned forward as Sinoa spoke. “The _only_ reason—yes, and I say that knowing that Euden is just _so charming_ —the only reason we have her services at all is because of Ranzal. He knew her personally before, and _begged_ her to come out and lend a hand to the Rebellious Prince. Without him, we’d probably have no equipment to speak of.”

She used the nickname Euden had been given to add extra emphasis on the monumental task it was. Kleimann saw through the trick. Yes, yes, quite the big favor. He paused, choosing his words. “I’m going to sound very discourteous right now, so I pray that you’ll forgive me here.”

“Of course. You can trust me.” Sinoa said. He knew Ramona lightly. Appreciated her work. So he had to make sure to note that he was going to cross a little social line regarding her loyalties. The good thing about talking with Sinoa in her study was that no one should be able to hear, and that she had enough of a relationship with Kleimann to accept those terms. They were friends, after all. They were able to talk about every topic, inform and correct erroneous lines of thought.

If he was wrong about this, he invited her to correct him.

“What are the chances that Ranzal…” He twirled his hand. “…used his flirtatious ways to get close to her?”

What are the chances that he’s kept her around with good dick?

With a deadpanned face, Sinoa gently touched his hands. “Would you lend your wand and your lab to someone just because a friend _slept_ with you? Even if he was a _god_ in bed.” Her hold was now firm. “I need you to be honest. Is that a _remotely feasible_ theory?”

Kleiman…

…sighed. “That was monumentally rude of me.” He _had_ warned her. And just as she had dealt with this stupid idea, he had dealt with her stupid ideas in the past. That was part of what friendship was. But even he had to admit that he filled his mouth with a sour taste. It would seem, Kleimann pondered as he rubbed his temples, that there was some merit to the negative reputation that he held. “I apologize.”

“You leaped to conclusions based on an image you’ve created of Ranzal in your head, which doesn’t line up with reality.” And it would also seem (this was a harder pill to swallow) that Ranzal’s repute and involvement with the Halidom was…more complex than he’d gave him credit for. “Just like _he_ has most likely done for you.”

“…”

“Do you _hate_ Ranzal?”

Did he hate him?

The question came attached with several potential branching answers. If he hated him, by proxy of the fact that both of them lacked understanding of the other, that meant that Ranzal probably hated him too. If he hated him, that meant that they were both feeding into each other’s negative reputations. If he hated Ranzal, it would mean that the dim hope of turning a ruffian into someone who could, at least, pay him respect, was a lost cause. It would mean that the notion of fixing his sour relationship with him through this research experiment was a faulty one.

Yes, Ranzal had taken him away from his work that night, had disrespected him on multiple occasions, and was a thorn in his side more times than not.

But…perhaps, this young lady was well on her way to becoming a wise magician after all. “….”He considered his answer based purely on personal terms. Not on what it may bring. Not based on any sort of future. What she was asking for—and what mattered—was a judgment on how Kleimann had been feeling up until now, as that was what had been feeding into the way he had been interacting with the other man. The mage let a bitter breath escape from his teeth. “…I don’t hate him, but…”

“But?” She propped the question in the air.

“…But we’re just so different, and have such different ideologies. Every time I try to relate to him in any capacity, it feels like he can’t even notice it.” It was impossible to assert that the repeated extractions of semen weren’t bringing them closer. Sex was sex, after all. It had a dimension of closeness that was inherent to the task. But because they were still so diametrically opposed to each other, it was like tying two feral cats together with a string. It was obvious that they’d hiss and bite at each other, despite being ‘close’. “…I guess by the same token I’ve also been making that hard for him.”

“I don’t wish to be rude, Sir Kleimann. But you’ve always taught me about proper experimental design, and, well…” She played with her hair, unsure.

“Oh, you can say it. I’ve failed miserably in the area of informed consent.”

They didn’t need to elaborate on that. He should’ve forced Ranzal to learn about what he had wanted to do to his body, to avoid this kind of complexity. Heinwald had said similar things as well. It was a miracle that this was still considered publishable by any stretch.

The older mage frowned deeply. “But he’s also failed as a lab assistant.” No matter how sorry he felt, he also could not forget that Ranzal had snooped around without permission—that he _was currently snooping around_ , as they were talking. The alerts of his runes were so irritating. How could that idiot have thought that this was a good idea? Did he not understand the utter indecency of it? The grave disrespect?

_“You can cool it with the shit jokes, old man.”_

Well, could he even ask for respect, when he hadn’t given it out himself?

Kleimann slouched in his chair, feeling defeated.

“You’re at a crossroads with your relationship with him.” A complicated one, at that. “I’ll speak clearly. You should drop this charade of getting dirt on him, of allowing him to continuously pile up offense after offense. Talk to him.” She was pleading with him.

“…Why does this matter to you so much?” He asked her.

“…Well, because Ranzal is my friend. Or, at least, I want him to be.” Sinoa let herself be vulnerable with her honesty. “He’s no mage, but he’s brave. And kind.”

“Do you like him?”

The memory of Ranzal bucking his hips, cursing sweet curses at him as he shot a load of mana-rich semen, came to Kleimann’s mind.

He’d….enjoy himself more if Kleimann were a woman. He was sure.

“Well, he’s quite handsome, but he sort of flubbed it hard, and I didn't really want to...you know.” They both chuckled. It was easy to get a dumbass man off your back if you told him you were functionally not interested in him. “But seriously, he’s a friendly person. When I realized that, I realized that, despite his overly forward flirting, I had grown to like his virtues. And…” her face turned red. “well, for a time, I did think of you in that way.” She smiled at her own silliness. "At least, I thought I did."

He sat up in his chair again. “I’m _sorry?_ ” A disbelieving snicker. “You _fancied_ _me?_ ”

“I-I was so new to the Halidom, I didn’t know how to really feel about everyone yet!” Oh, oh how rich. A student fancying a teacher. If he wasn’t absolutely fucked before, he was now. He chuckled lowly as she explained herself. “But now, now I see you as a person whom I want to learn from. You’re my friend, my _mentor_ , and I think that sometimes, a relationship like that is more valuable than a romantic one.” She sighed. It was out in the open. So impossibly brave of her. “So, when I see two people who I admire just treating each other like _garbage_ , it’s so sad. I want you guys to get along so much better, and I don’t know how to help…”

“You are so, so sweet.” Kleimann said, ruffling her hair. With Lowen, it had been an inflexible movement, hampered by his lack of personal relationship with the boy. But he cared for Sinoa a lot, and his hand was able to mold to the shape of her head. “And so kind. You are the type of person who will be able to discover secrets that I can never grasp.” Kleimann was destined for one thing, and one thing only. But Sinoa had a breadth of possibility the size of the night sky before her. And he knew, he deeply knew, that she would be able to dive deep into that possibility. One day, after everything was over, and possibly after he’d be claimed by Death, she would reshape magical society at its core.

He couldn’t imagine what it would look like, or thought himself as worthy enough to see it.

But he knew that this girl could do it.

“I’m not that great, sir.” She relaxed, smiled. “All I am is an agricultural mage, now.”

At that, he shook his head. “You do that to secure funds.” He gently put his hands on her shoulders. “We all do it. But you must _never_ give up on your dreams. Do you understand? You must _never_ lose sight of what makes your blood sing in your veins, whether it changes or not.” That was a danger he had been fully cognizant of when Sinoa had asked him for a project he could chaperone, and when he knew that he couldn’t involve her either in her field of choice (this Halidom was not equipped for it— _yet_ ) or his. He didn’t want her to settle for agricultural magic. That wasn’t what she wanted to do, she had said so herself. It would be an insult to both the great agricultural mages who _did_ see their passions in the soil and the seeds, and to her own dreams. “Promise me that you’ll pull through with this project, and the next—but that you will always aim for what _you_ want to do. Even if it won’t be under my tutelage.” He had to be frank. He was not equipped to give her everything.

His magic was a solitary one, only ever able to give out mere trinkets to others.

She nodded. “Only if you promise to pull through on your projects too.”

That required a change of tactics.

A change of perspective.

Ranzal was now holding on to a very specific file, reading it closely. He’d found what he’d been looking for, it seemed. Kleimann sighed. It still irked him a lot. He wanted nothing more than to shake the idiot around by the collar. But he was going to get anywhere, he would have to face his problems head-on.

Perhaps not now. Perhaps in a couple of days, when he was ready.

He smirked as he pushed Ranzal out of his mind. “Publish or perish, am I right?”

Sinoa rolled her eyes, smiling. “Ugh, the worst!!”


	8. Arguments and Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *dabs* fuckkkk university!
> 
> Ranzal and Kleimann have a talk

The rays of the sun had been teasing their appearance when he’d entered the castle. Ranzal stood in front of the door to Kleimann’s lab. It was earlier than his usual meeting time with the man, yet he could not have thought of any other place to be.

…He didn’t knock.

Of course, he _could_ knock on the door if he wanted to. Nothing was physically holding him back from doing so. But his conversation with Cleo from a few hours ago resounded in his mind.

_You shouldn’t call him a witch._

Embarrassment had burned through Ranzal every second after she’d left him. The notion that he would say a bunch of stupid things so easily—over the span of weeks—and that Kleimann hadn’t corrected him even once, it all weighed heavily on his mind. Even the quick and easy breakfast he’d made for himself earlier sat blandly in his stomach, a stone of foodstuffs collecting his shame.

Ranzal was an honest man, and he didn’t care for unnecessary pleasantries. The lifestyle of nobility often made people dance and dance around topics for the sake of formality, to the point where everyone appeared fake after a while. No rudeness, no crassness—but people often used those rules as an excuse not to be forward and honest with how they felt. After leaving his father and St. Lotier, Ranzal had sworn to live for the sake of his feelings. He did what he wanted, how he wanted, when he wanted to. And he wouldn’t give two shits if it bothered someone—as long as it didn’t hurt them.

He rubbed the back of his head, turned away from the door, and bounced on his heels, cringing at himself. That was it, wasn’t it? As long as it didn’t hurt people—but very obviously, Kleimann _had_ been hurt by the things he’d said. By his ignorant use of a word he didn’t understand. He knew the man well enough by now, knew how proud he was about his work and the specific social position he held because of it. It was _obvious_ to anyone who spent even a small measure of time around Kleimann that the mage was the sort to gain personal fulfillment out of his study. And Ranzal had just been allowed to talk shit about that for weeks.

Fucking hell, why didn’t the guy tell him anything? If Kleimann had spoken up and just _told_ him that he was being an idiot, he _would_ have stopped!

_He doesn’t make it easy, either._

Ranzal pushed a hot breath out of his nose, crossed his arms. Oh, the man didn’t make it easy at all. For all the shit Ranzal threw in Kleimann’s direction, Kleimann reflected the same right back at him. Fingers drumming, the mercenary felt himself slip into that odd mental space where anger felt good, and where feeding it felt righteous. He remembered every single time Kleimann had shot bullshit his way. One day, perhaps he was just too stupid. Or another day, just meant for ‘simple’ mercenary work (there was nothing ‘simple’ about battling on the front lines with an axe). Another day, Ranzal’s problem might just be that he was a horny idiot who would fuck whoever crossed his path at the right opportunity.

For a moment, Ranzal lifted his foot to step away.

_He doesn’t have a lot of friends, you know._

\--and Ranzal spun on his heel, facing the door once more.

The man groaned audibly and passed his hands over his face, dragging his skin down a little. Why did Cleo have to say shit like that? And why did she have to be _right_ about it?

Because for all the bullshit, for all the annoyances, for all the glares they shot each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, Ranzal could go to multiple people to complain. Hawk, Joe, and Erik were excellent drinking buddies, as were Vanessa and Ramona. Louise and Sophie were always a joy to talk to. And if he ever wanted to just _really_ let it all just gush out? Luca and Ifran were there for that. Because _he_ had been there for all of them, and because _he_ would _always_ be there for them that way.

Even outside of his tight-knit circle of best friends, he had many other people to talk to.

….And who did Kleimann have?

Sinoa?

…Ranzal sighed as another intrusive memory entered his head—this time of Kleimann complaining to _him_ about certain people he knew nothing about. But these people had annoyed Kleimann in some way, or made him worry, or made him want to tear his hair out.

“Oh, fucking hell…” Ranzal groaned as he pushed his hair back and held his hands against his temples. Kleimann had _him_.

…Or…he _should_ have had him and his full attention, anyway. Ranzal’s cheeks burned not just because of the slight horror that was realizing that _the Halidom’s insane wizard considered him close enough of a friend to vent to_ , but that he had, often, just given half-assents and base-level commentary. Just give the old geezer a ‘ _Damn, that’s crazy’_ to shut him up, or a _‘woah, and then what happened?’_ to make it look like you’re actually listening.

_He just rubs it in my face, all the time._

And in a sense, didn’t Ranzal _have_ to do those things?

_You just don’t think before you act._

Maybe Ranzal wouldn’t have had to act the way he had if he’d started on a better foot with the other man.

_But_ he _doesn’t hold back either._

…

Behind this door was a lot of bullshit, wasn’t there? From all angles.

Wasn’t that why he sort of dreaded coming down here every morning? Because both of them just yapped at each other like street dogs? It seemed like there was a new argument with Kleimann every week.

Just…two idiot men, yapping at each other, and pretending that a couple of cups of tea after mana extractions was enough to keep things civil.

…Just an idiot like always.

_Do you want to stop?_

But Ranzal had felt the benefits of this experiment in real time. He quickly pushed the memories of his gorgeous bunny girl and her broken bed out of his mind, and focused on what really mattered. He focused on his increased strength, his flexibility on the field. Now that he was starting to wield two elements instead of one, he was a secure pick for areas that didn’t behave uniformly and brought out fiends of more than one element. And people were complimenting him, his newfound strength.

The interested gazes of children like Lowen and Maribelle as they gazed at his runes had made him feel so proud.

…Proud about what? About interesting scripts that kept his dick from standing to attention at inopportune moments?

He hadn’t been the one to write those.

Ranzal looked at his hand, pushed his sleeve back and observed his entire arm. It was dark down here, but the lit lamps gave him a good view of his brown skin. Right now there were no runes drawn on his body. And even though he could coat his own forearms in shadow mana, that was about it. Ranzal _knew_ combat. He _understood_ it, in and out, from multiple angles and perspectives. And sure, he was no whiz like Kleimann or Sophie when it came to magic, but he knew enough—he _knew_ his body. And his shadow manipulation was a far cry from the seasoned and cultivated powers he had with wind.

As he was now, he was just the same amount of help to Euden as before, just with a little trick up his sleeve. But that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t help them defeat Dyrenell, or save his sister, or protect the people they cared about.

What he wanted, what he needed, it was behind this door.

“You won’t get an answer.” Ranzal’s fist, which was positioned to knock on the door and get this bullshit nervousness out of the way, twitched. He yelped and turned to the hall, and saw Kleimann. Out of his coat, with only his mage boots, brown pants, and white shirt, and his trademark mask glowing softly in the darkness. “Professor Kleimann’s not in right now, you see.”

“Kleiman..! Uh—”

Ranzal opened his mouth, realized he had no idea what to say, and let Kleimann open the door to his lab. Stretching and spinning once, the mage waved his wand in a specific movement that Ranzal had begun to recognize as being associated with light. And following his command, the room was lit from orbs attached to the celling.

“But now I am! Hee hee! Office hours are officially open!” The older man was acting as he usually did, cheerful and slightly insane. Paying Ranzal no mind, he continued to wave his wand. The usual table, a chair, and a teapot with a cup all flew out of the back of the lab where they were stored and presented themselves.

Kleimann sat on his chair and set a small, perfectly controlled blaze under the floating teapot. He spun three large clumps of different varieties of tea leaves in front of his face, observing them, trying to decide what to drink. Ranzal stepped further inside the laboratory and watched the mage for a moment. “G-Good morning.”

“Good morning, Ranzal.” He said, perfectly nice and curt.

“Um,” Ranzal was so nervous that he didn’t know where to look, so his eyes darted around the room. He looked at the tea leaves entering the pot, his shoes, the books behind Kleimann arranged somewhat haphazardly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Kleimann stirred the tea leaves slowly with a plain wooden stick. “How are you?”

“…I’m good.” This was bullshit, and he knew it. Ranzal bit the inside of his cheek to shock himself awake. He was pussyfooting, and if Ranzal had learned _anything_ in life, it was that being a coward and dancing around his issues would do fuck-all for anyone. One either confronted their problems or left them to rot—and as much as Kleimann annoyed him, as much as he made him want to scream some days, Ranzal didn’t think of him as someone who he should push away.

No. This bullshit was stopping. _Today._ The mercenary coughed into his hand, gathered up his courage once more. “Actually, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Hmmm….”

“It’s important.” He scratched the back of his head.

Kleimann slowly, softly closed the teapot and kept the flame burning steadily. After pushing it away slightly and drawing one circle around the rim of his teacup, he turned his head and looked right at Ranzal with those six glowing diamonds. “Yes. I know.”

Ranzal noticed it at that moment—he’d been so nervous he hadn’t even looked at things properly—but Kleimann had brought forth _two_ chairs, _two_ saucers, and _two_ teacups.

The mage splayed his hand open. “Have a seat.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

Ranzal blinked. “Um…sure.”

Oh, this was _good._

Kleimann allowed himself to drink of that worried expression. Of the slight nerves that were betrayed by Ranzal’s face, of the way he eyed the chair warily before sitting down with a type of resignation in his body language that _tickled_ Kleimann in the deepest parts of his being.

“How do you want your tea today? Strong or mild?”

“M-Mild.” The mercenary replied, snapping up to attention and holding himself like how a foolish teenager might when weighed down by guilt. “Kleimann, I—”

“Hold on.” Kleimann held up a hand, focused on the tea leaves and squeezed them slightly with his mana. Years and years of drinking tea and being around people who held teamaking as more of an artform than a leisurely diversion had given the mage ample opportunity to become skilled at the delicate mana control required to correctly espress the flavor from the leaves. It helped when one was in a pinch, when one’s thesis committee was set to arrive minutes earlier than expected.

Sure, it wasn’t considered as _fine_ to manually rush the tea and skip the natural process…

…But the man in front of him didn’t really deserve that type of quality, now did he?

Kleimann poured Ranzal his tea, slowly. He would soon stop with this game of holding the rat by the end of his tail and hearing him squeak. He wasn’t a _monster_ (like some mages were), but before he could really feel comfortable enough to tackle this most…annoying of topics, he would have just a bit of spectacle, as a treat.

He deserved that much, after all.

“Thanks…” Ranzal said, staring at his cup.

“You were saying something important.” Kleimann said, allowing Ranzal to stop pursing his lips and twiddling his fingers under the table.

Ranzal looked at the cup, cheeks pinker and pinker as his mind no doubt raced and reminded him of his insubordination. Kleimann sighed and poured himself a cup as well. He would’ve preferred a stronger flavor, but if Ranzal _needed_ to be held by the hand, well. “It’s not poisonous. See?” He drank half the cup.

“I wasn’t thinking it was. I just,” And then, to his credit, Ranzal recovered from the shock of Kleimann’s teasing with a soft exhale. The mage held his cup in the air as he appraised the mercenary that shifted in his chair and _had the balls_ to look him in the mask. At the very least, he was dealing with a man after all. Not bad. “…I want to apologize to you.” Kleimann let him speak. “During the past few days, while I’ve helped you in your lab, I’ve also been reading your files without your permission.”

Kleimann set the cup down and paused.

…He could _play_ here, again. Act shocked, hurt, _utterly disassembled_ by Ranzal’s lack of respect for boundaries. Of course he _was_ highly offended (otherwise he wouldn’t be bothering with this kind level of stiffness). But the thought crossed the mage’s mind. He could really wring it out of Ranzal here.

But the tea on his tongue began to taste quite a bitter way at the idea, and Kleimann decided that he would give a spade a spade, and act like a man in kind. “I know.”

The manly aura that pushed off Ranzal like summer waves was suddenly interrupted. The mercenary blinked, and surprise threatened to overtake his face. “What?”

“Ranzal, I know you’ve been reading my things. Now don’t worry. I don’t suspect you of doing anything so _dastardly_ as leaking my research and experiment notes to other mages. You’re not the type for that kind of thing.” Ranzal didn’t react to that. Alright, alright, no more fun, for real this time. “Do you see these books?” With a wave of his wand, Kleimann called two books over from his desk. At random, really.

When Ranzal nodded, Kleimann pointed at the tomes and blew on the crystal at the tip of his wand. The whispered revealing charm wrapped around the tomes and, after a second where the air was tinged with his mana, weakened the cloaking spell around the tome’s eyeball runes. Not nearly enough to erase them, just enough to let Ranzal _see_ them. “When someone other than I touch these books—or even if you wanted to look at them—I know. If someone other than me reads the words in these books, I _immediately_ know who it is.”

One of the books opened itself to Ranzal. As it slowly turned its contents, page by page, the mercenary was surely taking note of all the superimposed eyes on the margins. As expected, Ranzal went cold, and did not speak, so Kleimann filled in the silence for him. “You see, Ranzal, when you’re a _warmage_ —really, when you’re smart enough that people might actually give a _shit_ about what you do in a lab—you end up taking _precautions_ against things like spies and research thieves. I know you’re not familiar with my world, but it happens. _Quite a bit._ ”

“But…” Ranzal held the book in his hands, real regret showing on his face. Unexpected, but within reason. “…but you said that mages don’t care about nationalism or borders. That you’ll learn from anyone.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little at the naivete. Leaning on his hand, he lazily recalled the books. “Ranzal,” he said, chuckling slightly. “Open learning is not the same as open source.” So many memories came to him at that moment. Once, some poor fool had tried to use silencing and invisibility charms in tandem to steal a scroll from an associate professor _while_ they were holding office hours. That day ended with Kleimann learning a lot about astronomy _and_ anatomy. But he wouldn’t just dump that on Ranzal. It _was_ a story of a proud magician holding her own, but he would not get distracted.

Not today. “What I do here—what I _have done_ elsewhere—is top-tier thaumaturgic research. What kind of moron _wouldn’t_ try to steal that and make themselves known in the magical world, if they thought they had the chance?”

“…Then, they wouldn’t be morons.” Ranzal offered.

“Exactly. Because they’d know it would be _so, so stupid_ to try and sneak one under _my_ nose.” Kleimann folded his fingers together. “And yet, that’s what _you_ did! And you did it _thirteen_ times. Each time longer than the last.”

“I’m sorry.” Ranzal tried. “I—”

“Hold on. Before you try to say anything else, if you could explain your reasoning behind looking at my documents…” He made a gesture with his hand, then thought of a better use for it, and poured himself more tea. “See, your mental process is as _confounding_ as it is intriguing, and my runes don’t tell me what people _intend_ to do with the information they find. So if you could just satisfy my curiosity there, before we continue…”

Kleimann held his teacup in his hand.

He didn’t move to drink it.

Not until Ranzal summoned up that spirit of honesty once again (which, if the fool had it in the first place, why not always display it?) and began to recount his reasoning, and his intentions.

Kleimann listened calmly at first, drank his tea…

…But very quickly, he uncrossed his legs and began to lean forward slightly.

Until Ranzal came to the end of his story, leaving him somewhat slumped in his chair.

“You…wanted to know who approved me to use your medical files…” Kleimann sat up, pushed his mask up a little, and rubbed the bridge of his nose before setting it back down. “…so you could _grill_ them.”

“I know. I know.” Ranzal nodded. It seemed like recounting things had taken something out of him too. He looked a little winded, slightly tired (who wouldn’t be after self-exposing their own stupidity like that?) “I just thought someone wanted to screw with me. But I was just projecting my own feelings, and, I guess, I wanted someone to take my frustration out on.”

Frustration?

Ranzal kept talking. “But Cleo told me that’s now how it worked at all. And, fuck, man. I should’ve just like, asked you about it, or talked to you in general.” He had the gall to put on a sincere, serious expression. “That’s why I wanted to apologize. I just assumed so many things about you without even thinking…”

Ranzal trailed off.

He was finally noticing the expression on Kleimann’s face.

This _wild bear_ of a man was telling him _he_ was frustrated?

The mage took a deep breath…

…Nope! Despite all his efforts, Kleimann couldn’t hold back the snickers that were presently bubbling out of his lips. Ranzal gave him a look as though he couldn’t quite parse what he was seeing. After all, Kleimann was smiling, but the sounds coming out of his mouth were angry sounds. “You—you did all that, because you were _frustrated_ with me? You violated my privacy and wormed your way into my lab, because of a little—a little frustration??”

“Kleimann, I fucked up this time—”

“Oh, not just _this_ time, you insatiable _ingrate_.” Kleimann leaned forward, smiling wider still. “But I guess that’s to be expected from someone who previously made his living screwing around and doing odd jobs for the common folk.” He shrugged. “A simple man does simple jobs, I get it, I do.”

Ranzal’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Closed his eyes, but Kleimann was no longer impressed with his little maturity act. “Listen, we got off on the wrong foot, and I made it worse, but—”

“But _what_ , Ranzal?” Kleimann flicked his whole arm out, and every single tome, jar, and box in the laboratory was, for a single moment, lit up with revealed monitoring runes. “You think you can just screw around in _my_ lab, waste _my_ resources as I try to fix the damage _you_ did to your own magic circuits, and then I’ll just let you go after a little apology?”

“Well, I—”

“See, this is your problem. You don’t _think_. You _never_ think! Not once did you stop to think to yourself,” and here, he couldn’t resist adopting a mocking tone of voice. “ _Ehh, my magic’s_ purple _now, and uh, I guess my body’s changing, so I_ GUESS _maybe I should ask what might be healthy or not be healthy for me. But only after fiend hunting with my friends! Only after I go have my fun!”_ Ranzal could give him that scowl all he wanted, but Kleimann did not care a single bit. He changed back to his usual tone of voice, lest he get stuck talking like Mr. Stallion before him. “And even _after_ all that, you somehow _didn’t think_ that going behind the back of the man that’s trying to make sure you’re not rendered _useless_ could possibly be a bad idea!!” Kleimann threw his hands up. “Ranzal, you’ve been fucking up from _day one.”_ He shook his head. “It’s incredible, really.”

“I…” Another one of those ‘gentlemanly’ deep breaths. Please. Kleimann poured himself a third cup of tea, because at least that was more interesting than listening to—

“I wouldn’t have done all that if you hadn’t made me feel like a dumbass every day.”

Oh? Did he think he was scared because he was openly glaring at him again? What, was he supposed to drop his wand in shock? Kleimann traced lazy circles with his instrument to cool down the liquid a little. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Yours.”

Kleimann drank his tea. Stopped. Noticed that Ranzal was waiting for him to speak. Oh how _kind_ of him. _Now_ he wanted to hear what he had to say! “Keep going. I’m busy with this.”

Ranzal’s good-boy act evaporated. As expected, men like him always had such a short fuse. “I’ve been hangin’ around this _dump_ for _two months_ , Kleimann. And every day, I have to listen to you _bitch_ and _moan_ about how I’m such a moron, or about how I’m such a meathead. You don’t think that gets on my nerves? I’ve got limits, man!”

“Don’t you talk to me about _limits_.” Kleimann growled as he put down his tea cup and faced the angry man head on. “I could’ve caught you with your hands in my scrolls the _first_ time you did that. I could have _bolted_ back to the Halidom and blasted you out of this room with barely a spell, and I _didn’t_. Because I thought that, maybe, you’d come to your senses and _stop_ crossing obvious boundaries!! So don’t you start—”

But it seemed like it was Ranzal’s turn to interrupt, now that he’d finally grown the pair to do so. “Then _why_ didn’t you say anything?! If _anyone_ snuck into my room, I’d confront them first chance I got!” Ranzal then had the absolute nerve to look down on him. “You just wanted more dirt on me.”

Sinoa’s words stung at the corner of his mind, and Kleimann was thrown off balance. He was feeling himself getting wrapped up in their argument now too. Goddamn it! “ _What_ could I _possibly_ do with any ‘dirt’ on you?!”

Ranzal spread out his hands. “You’re always reminding me about that night back at the Gout!” The Gout? Confusion must’ve shown on his face, because Ranzal elaborated. “The _bar_ , Kleimann, the one I took you to. They have different _names_ , y’know.” _Took_ him to?! Rage was building up inside of Kleimann now, but Ranzal just kept on talking as he always did, ignoring the obvious around him. “You _love_ to remind me about how everyone saw what happened, but you know what? It’s been _two months_ , and not ONE of my friends has talked to me about it. _None_ of the people in the surrounding towns _or_ in the Halidom have even _hinted_ at it—and you know why? Because. people. don’t. fucking. care anymore.”

“You think people are just going to mention that shit to you, just like that? You’re not an ordinary gu—”

“THEY DON’T GIVE A SHIT, KLEIMANN!!” Ranzal yelled out, and pushed against the table, making Kleimann feel the impact on his legs and chest. That made the wizard stand up, gritting his teeth. Ranzal looked down for a moment, saw that he had made the teapot shake. That calmed him down some, but he still went for the offensive. “You’re the only one that gives a fuck, because you know that if _I_ stop caring about it, then I’ll _leave_.” He was absolutely serious, his eyes were smoldering. “And it’ll be just like before I started helping you with your research, when people _barely_ talked to you.”

Ranzal seemed to realize the gravity of his words just a little later than he should have.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Kleimann put his hands on the other end of the table, stopping Ranzal from pushing back any further. In this domineering position, he felt emboldened, and laughed at Ranzal. “Magic, when you get _good enough_ , IS a solitary pursuit, you dunce!! And you have _no_ idea what I do for this castle and for its residents, what I’ve helped to organize!”

“Oh, I bet you do _plenty_ , holed up in this lab of yours like a rat. You barely even get sunlight!”

The table shook a little. Kleimann pushed Sinoa’s admission that Ranzal did have a presence in the surrounding area out of his mind, because it would make him lose steam in this critical moment. “You wouldn’t even be able to _comprehend_ the things I do.”

“Oh, _there_ it is.” Ranzal pushed back. “Again with the _comprehension_ and the _understanding._ Maybe I’d listen to you talk about the shit you like if you didn’t rub your degree all over my face all the goddamn _time_!!” Another push. Ranzal’s tea spilled. He moved to dodge the liquid—

And Kleimann, who was completely swept up in his emotions, couldn’t help but push back, his own teacup be damned. To his frustration, Ranzal didn’t miss a beat in grabbing the table, and no tea burned him. “How could you even appreciate what I can do if you don’t know what it took to _get_ there?!”

“Kleimann, it doesn’t fucking _matter_ —”

“Yes it does!!”

They were both pushing against the table now. Their teacups tinkled helplessly from the pressure of their slightly shaking arms. The teapot, with its lid slightly ajar, shook a little in its place. “You think that it’s all just _sparkles_ and _ribbons_ of light.”

“It _obviously_ isn’t.” Ranzal countered.

“Well! You could’ve fooled me!” Kleimann spat. “Every single time I bring up an interesting spell that I studied, or how certain other mages failed at the experiments you ‘kindly’ help me with, or even when I was describing the spell _you_ are directly benefiting under—every single time, you get this _dumbass_ look on your face, because you don’t _actually_ give a shit.”

“Again, it’s because _you_ keep treatin’ me like _garbage!”_ Ranzal pushed the table so hard it squeaked on the floor.

That did something to Kleimann, made him push back even harder. “Oh, and dragging me out of my lab during a _blue moon_ was top-tier charity, was it now?!”

Ranzal rolled his eyes. “Come _on!!_ That was so long ago! Does it really matter? _Does it_?”

“You have _no idea_ how much that mattered to me.”

Ranzal seemed to search around for something to say. Then he gave up. “Fine..! Then _tell_ me why it mattered so much.”

Kleimann sneered. “Oh, _sure_ , I’m going to be open with you after you snooped around in my lab! After you spilled the tea _I_ made!”

“That was _you_ , you piece of shit!”

Kleimann shook his head. “You _finally_ want to hear about what I want to do and _why_ I want to do it, yet _you’ve_ never offered the same.” Kleimann jabbed a finger at Ranzal’s chest, and the man’s eyes seemed to blaze at the contact. “If it’s _so hard_ to be here every day, why do you stay?”

“Fuckin’ hell—” Ranzal tried to grab Kleimann’s hand, but ended up knocking the table and almost spilling the entire teapot. He didn’t seem to notice things this time around. Kleimann himself was only barely aware. It was like Ranzal was sucking up all his attention, like some sort of stupid, brawny singularity. The mercenary slapped his hands on the table. “ _Fine._ You wanna know why I put up with all this _bullshit?!_ It’s so that I can get strong. For _me._ For _Euden_.” He jabbed at himself with his thumb, looking proud of his answer.

Kleimann tilted his head back. “Oh, come _off_ it. You’re like every other green recruit that wants to bring back ‘the glory of the Alberian homeland!’ You know what I say to that, Ranzal?” What was this? It was like his blood was on fire. Kleimann slapped his coffee table and pushed his head forward. “I call _bullshit.”_

Ranzal, bull that he was, met him in kind and pushed his forehead against his mask, eyes burning. “ _Watch it.”_

“You may have everyone else fooled by that knightly persona, but _I_ at least know a _liar_ when I see one!”

“You mother—”

“Guys, stop!!”

Both men jumped, completely caught off guard. The table jolted with just enough force, and Kleimann was made aware of his teapot once more—but his concentration was completely shot, and he wasn’t able to focus his mana in time. Ranzal, though quicker and nimbler despite his large size, was also not able to reach the teapot in time, and the ceramic receptacle smashed into tiny pieces on the ground.

The liquid inside flowed towards the open door—towards Prince Euden, who stood there, staring at them in shock, with a manilla folder in his hands.

This was not how this had been supposed to go.

“E-Euden—”

“My Liege.” Kleimann saluted, bending down the appropriate angle for a royal. Euden was known to not prefer this kind of treatment, but Kleimann couldn’t help it. Shame coursed through his body like a river. His laboratory was supposed to be a place of magical and scientific spectacle, of deep discoveries—all with the aim to primarily support the royal that gave him food, shelter, and drink. Instead, that same royal—the first person in this castle that had ever understood him—was presented with a mess.

And, gracious as ever, Euden put up one hand, and adopted a look of the most selfless concern. “Are you two alright?”

Kleimann opened his mouth, but Ranzal spoke. His demeanor had shifted dramatically as well. “Sorry, boss. Me and Kleimann were just arguing.”

Well, that _was_ the truth. No point in hiding that. “Terribly sorry for this shameful display, my Liege.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine.” The Seventh Heir to the Alberian throne was many things. Brave, intelligent, kind, selfless, charitable in the purest sense of the word—but he was still growing. He had trouble hiding his distress, though not for lack of trying, and was now struggling to keep his discomfort and worry for them hidden away. And, of course, whenever Euden was confronted with a situation where two parties didn’t get along, he had a tendency to offer up his services. “Would you guys like me to help clean that up?”

Ranzal shook his head, immediately went to pick up the shards—but Kleimann shook his head. “No need to worry.” He was now back on his mental horse, and with the correct grip of his wand, the man lifted up the shards of the broken teapot and tea cups. The difference in thickness of the shards made it exceedingly easy to tell them apart, which shortened his casting of the reparation spell. Euden and Ranzal watched as Kleimann quickly repaired the tea set. With a quick wave of his wand, he also made the tea evaporate, filling the room with the smell of the herbs. “If you wish, I could serve you a cup after I clean the teapot?”

Euden blinked, still star struck from his display of magic. “Oh, no no! Thank you, but I’m fine. I had some of Cleo’s honey tea a few minutes ago.” And he smiled. “Thank you, though.”

For a beat, an awkward silence as none of the three men knew what to say.

Luckily, it didn’t last long, for fairies are known to be impatient when they’re young. “What was all that _racket?!_ You guys were shouting _real_ loud!” From the crown of Euden’s head sprung up Notte, the fairy. She flew around for a moment before deciding to hover nearby her Prince’s shoulder.

Kleimann took a moment to observe her. This little thing, kin to dragons. Her brethren in a forest somewhere had blessed little Maribelle with their approval, and her naturally-potent magic circuits had further developed within her tiny frame. Did she know about that? Did this little fairy, so often seen fooling around with others and eating her fill, sense the blessing in that little forest girl?

But that didn’t matter right now. Euden nodded at both of them. “I wanted to talk to Kleimann. Verica wanted me to give you a copy of her lesson plan for the month, and to see if you could give her any suggestions.” The manilla folder crinkled slightly in his grip. Kleimann graciously took it from his hands, and opened it.

Basic elemental theory, a continuation on healing practices, plans to introduce divination…The quick look he was giving the document was already yielding a lot of interesting things. But right now, Kleimann was of no mind for it, as much as that irked him. Ranzal was looking at him like a dog might look at a beautiful bird. Confused, wondering. Eugh. “Thank you, my Liege. If Verica could wait for a few moments, I should be able to meet with her to discuss these plans for breakfast.”

“Of course.” Euden smiled. But he didn’t leave. “Um, I don’t mean to intrude, nor to be rude, but—”

“Are y’all fighting?”

“Notte…!” Euden hissed at the fairy, who shrugged.

“What? I mean, they _were_ yelling at each other, and there was the whole business with the tea, and Ranzal looks like he wants to strangle somebody—”

“I—I look _fine_ , thank you.” Notte stuck out his tongue at him. He copied the gesture. Had that been meant to be a show of support, or a way to tease the man? Kleimann had no idea. “Euden,” Ranzal seemed like he was going to assure his Prince that nothing had been going on, but instead he turned around, grabbed both chairs and offered one to his Prince. The blonde youth sat in the chair after thanking him, and Kleimann was left with no choice but to stand and watch as Ranzal took the reins. “I’m sorry. Were you waiting long?”

“No, we’d just gotten here a few seconds ago, actually.” And what a sight—the Prince’s tension left his body almost immediately. He adopted a proper yet relaxed sitting position. Ranzal himself leaned forward a little with his arms resting lightly on his knees. Two different styles of sitting, yet while they should have seemed cacophonous so nearby, Kleimann instead felt like they complimented each other. Like a painting using poses and weight to give good balance. The Prince exhaled, and drummed his fingers together a little. “But something that I heard _did_ bother me quite a bit.”

What had he heard? Immediately, Kleimann went over their entire fight. The two most incriminating comments were that Ranzal had snooped around in his lab, and that Ranzal had received orgasms from him. Both were not in the timeframe of a ‘few seconds ago’. Theoretically, Ranzal had nothing to worry about—and yet there was this look on his face, as though he were ready to accept whatever judgment came from Euden. A resigned, kind smile—Kleimann had never _seen_ such an expression before on his rough countenance.

…Was this really Ranzal? “What did ya hear, bossman?”

Euden continued. “Well, you were screaming about how you were performing this mana awakening ritual for my sake. To get stronger for me.” Ok, so Ranzal’s reputation wasn’t shot—why was he still using such an expression? It was much too pure. Suspicions of lies began to fill Kleimann’s head once more, but he listened to his royal, who was now trying to walk on eggshells when there was no need to. “I don’t know why the two of you aren’t getting along, whether its personality or something else—” Euden gave a kind look to Kleimann, making him stand a bit more rigidly. “—but getting stronger shouldn’t have to come at the expense of feeling alright.”

“Aw, Prince, yer too kind.” Ranzal grinned, gently and lovingly pushed at Euden's shoulder.

Euden took it, smiling, happy—but then his face grew serious in its kindness. “Ranzal, you don’t _have_ to do something you don’t like, just because it’ll make me happy. It’s not like _war_ is something I want in the first place.”

Was this how it ended?

With a kind word, and a pardoning hand from the kindest prince in all the land?

Was this…

But Ranzal shook his head. “It ain’t just war we gotta worry about. There’re fiends out there who hurt innocent people. Bandits and thieves too. And even if Dyrenell were out of the picture, there’s always someone out there waitin’ to make trouble happen.” He scratched his chin, looking up. “I ‘member there was a book I came across once. _Struggle is the eventual state of man…”_

Euden nodded grimly. “ _…whether his ears are short or tall._ That was Blakeson.” If Kleimann remembered correctly, Euden referred to Stanford Blakeson, a philosopher and famous war strategist who served the 14th King of Alberia in ages past. His musings on proper warmaking and strategy were as prized as his poetry. Even mages knew of his works. What surprised him wasn’t that Euden, a known royal, would be able to quote him.

What surprised him was that Ranzal was, too. Euden smiled. “Where’d you find one of his books?”

“Once I rescued a noble near North Grastaea. She gave it to me as a gift.” Ranzal nodded proudly.

“I wanna read it! Where’s it now?” Notte piped up.

“Oh, I lost it a couple years later.” He shrugged.

“Boo!!” But her petulance was met with chuckles.

Kleimann just observed. Observed as Ranzalc calmed his Prince. “If the world is full of struggles, I have to get stronger. Not just for your sake, but for the sake of everyone else. I have to make sure Lowen and all those kids grow up safe.” He turned and nodded towards Kleimann. “And if we can iron out those kinks in your spell, we’ll be able to make shit better for them, won’t we?”

Kleimann exhaled. “That, we certainly will.”

He stepped closer, and kneeled in front of the Prince, who blushed from embarrassment. “Sorry, it would feel strange to talk down to you.”

“G-Go ahead.” He smiled. Ranzal and Notte chuckled together. Kleimann ignored them.

“My Liege, you are correct. Ranzal and I certainly do not get along well sometimes. Our personalities are in opposition, and there are days when he and I inevitably bump against one another.” Ranzal’s smile shrank, but did not disappear. Yet one does not make a man orgasm multiple times and come away empty handed. Kleimann could tell from miniscule ticks, the way that his throat bulged just a little, the way that his eyes centered, the way that he tried to make himself look natural by tensing his toes (which made his legs raise just ever so slightly)—Ranzal was anything but pleased with him right now. But it had come to this, and Kleimann was no longer in the mood to fight. The singularity had been broken apart by a golden ray of light, and he would bask in it. “However, I would be remiss to say that I have not learned anything with his assistance. In fact, if you remember my reports from last week, I’ve both confirmed and reassessed many of my predecessor Michaelangelo’s assumptions for this work.”

Euden didn’t seem entirely soothed. “But won’t you come to an argument like this, again?”

“Now that we know it bothers you so? Please. The women who walk at your heels would have our heads.” Kleimann gave a cheeky grin, and Euden grew flustered. Ranzal put his head in his hands, and Notte landed atop his head.

“He’s right, Euden! Mym _would_ kill these guys if they made you sad!”

“Notte, don’t say that.” Euden kindly warned.

“He’s right, squirt. Say her name three times and she’ll appear behind you.” Ranzal snorted, and guffawed when Euden gave him a disapproving look. “Oh, come on, bossman! That was a good one!”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Euden put up both his hands and stood up. With that, Kleimann stood up as well, feeling the fairy above his head grab at his hairs. “But I’m glad, then. Sorry if I intruded.”

“No no,”Kleimann shook his head as Notte flew off it. “Do you remember what I told you the third week I was here?”

Euden nodded, and with that, Kleimann knew he had his trust. “I’ll leave the two of you to it, then.”

“Take care, my Liege.” He crossed his arms as Euden left.

“See you for some fiend hunting today, yeah?” Ranzal called, leaning out of the door.

“Sure thing…!!” Euden called from the hallway. Ranzal waved goodbye…

…And then entered the lab again.

His smile was gone.

“You couldn’t have _bothered_ to lock the door when you came in? Good Lord…” Kleimann looked to the side.

“It’s _your_ lab, and _you_ have the magic wand.”

“A redundancy.” Kleimann said, and went to sit in one of the discarded chairs. Ranzal sat down in the other chair, and the two men exhaled at the same time.

After a while, Ranzal spoke. “You heard it. You heard why I fight. And why do _you_ do this shit?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I want a publication and professorship…” The look that Ranzal was giving him told him he was absolutely dissatisfied with that answer. In any other circumstance, Kleimann would have just left him with that morsel, but after seeing Euden, he had softened. “…Not many people have ever grasped at my heart the way that boy has.”

“He’s not a boy.” Ranzal said, voice firm.

“Not through any will of his own.” Kleimann countered. “He’s young, and frankly, exceedingly lucky for someone with no experience. And yet…” He shrugged. He really had no intelligent way of saying this. “I don’t _know._ The idea of leaving him the dust bothers me immensely. If this—man who leads us can really change things around here, and if following him might change other things in the world, then I’ll gladly give him my wand.”

Ranzal stared up at the ceiling, at the colorful lights floating up above. He sighed again. Closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I called you a witch so many times.”

Kleimann huffed, smiled. Cleo had really laid it good on this man, to make him so willing to apologize for his behavior. Well, now that Euden had basically disrobed their souls and left them in the nude like this with his damned purity, Kleimann found himself balancing perfectly on the back legs of his chair. Another skill that took ages to refine. Wiggling slightly back and forth, he also stared at the soft lights. “The term you used is not a very special term when compared to other slurs. It doesn’t have the heavy discriminatory attitudes that are inherent in racism or nationalism. It’s simply something rooted in historical happenings based around the appearance of something beyond the reach of intelligent minds.”

“Doesn’t mean it was good to say it.”

“No. It doesn’t. Because of the tension in the past, magical societies and church buildings have operated like water and oil. It’s extremely difficult for them to appear close together in larger towns without some sort of tension. On the one hand, it comes with the job.” Kleimann shrugged, slowly twirled his wand around his fingers, casting no magic. “On the other hand, it was a shock to hear it spoken in the same castle that Euden lives in.”

“Would you believe me if I said I had no idea what it meant?”

Kleimann considered it. Ranzal did sound genuinely apologetic, and there was no tension in the air anymore. Slowly, he lowered himself down from his balancing position, and looked at Ranzal. The man was holding one leg up to his chest, hugging it, looking anywhere but Kleimann—until his eyes caught the glint of his mask, and they couldn’t help but look directly at it.

“…I can believe it. Idiot bards and poets have muddied the meaning, and there _are_ those who genuinely mean no harm by it. But in a castle filled with preachers and Paladyns, some who have come directly from abbeys?” Kleimann smiled. “You never know.”

Ranzal didn’t say anything.

Kleimann stood up, stretched, and yawned. He walked up to Ranzal, and offered a hand. “I’ll apologize as well for my own behavior. I have been informed in the past that I can be quite…” He made a gesture. “ _particular_.”

“You mean _difficult._ ”

“Perhaps.” His mouth twisted. “I’m not going to be forgiving you for betraying my trust so easily, nor lying to me about your reading ability. You assumed so much about my character before even spending an evening under my care.” And he could see Ranzal take that embarrassment head-on.

Like a grown man. “But if we’re to work together on this as researcher and subject, we’ll have to learn to actually get along.”

“….” Ranzal smiled a little, stood up. He really was tall, wasn’t he? “I was afraid there. For a second, thought you were gonna kick me out of the study.”

Where else would he find a foolish moron fingering a woman in public in this time of year? But Kleimann didn’t say that. Instead, he turned around and flicked a certain folder forward. “Well, at this moment, you technically aren’t part of the study at all.” He turned around to face a shocked Ranzal. “We— _I_ specifically—did not begin this study correctly. Sure, it’s ‘fine’ by research standards to have gaffes like this, but ethically, I cannot stand by my lack of diligence. So,” He pushed the folder into Ranzal’s broad chest. “You’re not going to be training mana today. You’re going to read the plan for the experiment— _all_ the pertinent sections, already marked for you— _and_ you’re going to mark any section you don’t understand. We’ll review it this evening.”

Ranzal may have been many things—things that Kleimann did not quite understand yet, or have a complete picture of (this ambiguity bothered him like nothing else). But Ranzal wasn’t foolish—even if he so often behaved like he was. Even if he seemed to, paradoxically, fight so that people _would_ consider him a moron. His intelligence had a habit of slipping through the cracks and showing itself in different moments.

So, placing his neck out on the line once more, he trusted that Ranzal would realize the importance of actually establishing informed consent.

…And Ranzal _did_ understand, because he nodded. “Sure. I’ll read.”

“And you will be reading _out_ of my lab.” Kleimann opened the door.

Ranzal, embarrassed and sheepish, walked through it. “Course, course.” Of course. See, Ranzal wasn’t actually stupid—after all that show, no one would expect him to just let the man read alone in his lab. Hell itself would freeze over before Kleimann became a pushover. “I’ll tell Euden I have something big to do, and unless he specifically needs me, I should be able to get off today.”

“Good.” The mage shut, _locked_ the door, and began to walk away.

“Kleimann?”

“What?”

For some reason, the mage expected him to ask where he was going to be, or what he was going to do. But instead, at the foot of the staircase, where the light from above was starting to filter in and grace Ranzal’s face, the mercenary gave him a sincere look. “Thank you.”

“…” Kleimann turned and walked up to meet the Halidom’s resident Seer. “ _The most auspicious winds don't blow thrice in the same year_.”

And he left him to chew on Blakeson some more.


End file.
